


Wrestle & Win

by Annaelle



Category: Spartacus Series (TV), Spartacus: Blood and Sand, Spartacus: Gods of the Arena, Spartacus: Vengeance, Spartacus: War of the Damned
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Modern AU, Multi, Soulmate AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-07 04:55:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 24,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11616312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annaelle/pseuds/Annaelle
Summary: Nasir, however, shrieks and jumps up, shoving the comic book into Duro’s lap as he yells, “You said my words!” And Duro doesn’t know a lot yet, but he knows that the words are important and that the person who says your words is your soulmate. He’s not too sure what a soulmate is, really, other than that they’re really important, and he doesn’t know what to think about his brother and his best friends saying each other’s words.Duro watches his big brother and his best friend squabble over the comic book and decides that they are really weird, but he likes them and they’re his, so he guesses he’ll have to keep them.--Duro grows up with Agron and Nasir, who have known they're soulmates since they were children. It's not always easy. But then, the best things in life never are.SOULMATE AU/MODERN AU





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So... I have to be honest, this is my first work in the Spartacus fandom (and holy hell, no matter how many times you step into a new fandom, it's still scary as fuck) and I've tried to do all of the characters justice :) 
> 
> I adore every single one of them, and this little thing would not leave me alone until I had written it. 
> 
> There will be a second chapter, likely from someone else's PoV, but I cannot say when I'll be able to get that one out. As it is, this one took me over three weeks to write already. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you guys all enjoy! Leave some love!
> 
> Love,  
> Annaelle
> 
> PS Thank you to my lovely beta Juuls, who is not even a part of this fandom and still obliged me and helped me out with this little thing. You're the absolute best, my love <3

**Wrestle & Win**

**“Half the time when brothers wrestle, it is an excuse to hug each other.”  
– James Patterson**

**PART I - DURO**

**January 1998  
BEPS International School, Brussels, Belgium**

Duro Müller is a little short, he knows, for his age, but he knows no one would tease him at the new school, because he is Agron Müller’s little brother, and his big brother _always_ takes care of him. Duro is five-and-a-half and his big brother is almost nine and they just moved to a new city in a new country that isn’t very far from their _old_ country for their papa’s job, and Duro is _super_ excited, because learning a new language and moving to a new country is _way_ cooler than getting a swimming pool party for your birthday, no matter what cousin Saxa tried to tell him.

He holds his mama’s hand as they walk to the class and looks around with wide eyes. The school is a lot bigger than his old school and the kids are bigger and all look different and he is a little nervous.

He had practiced the new language a lot at home with mama and Agron, but he hasn’t really tried to talk to other people yet and it is a little scary. He is really brave though, like Agron taught him, and he wants to make his brother smile, because Agron doesn’t smile enough, like mama says they should.

“Mama, what happens when the other kids don’t like me?” he asks nervously in German, tugging on his mama’s hand as they slow to a stop at a brightly decorated door. There’s butterflies and drawings, and even a rainbow painted near the door handle, and Duro can hear laughing inside but he’s still a little too scared to go in without mama or Agron.

“They’ll love you,” mama replies steadily, kneeling down before Duro with a smile, ruffling her hands through his curly hair. “They’d be silly not to. You’re going to love it here, Duro.”

Duro tries not to pout, but he doesn’t quite succeed and mutters, “But Agron isn’t here.” It is true—their papa took Agron to school, since it was closer to his office than to Duro’s new school—and Duro doesn’t like that he won’t be able to talk to Agron during lunch break like he did in his old school.

“It’s only for a little while, _bärchen_ ,” his mama says sweetly. “You’re going to Agron’s school in September, when you’re six. That’s seven more months, baby.”

Duro nods and looks back to the door. He remembers. Agron had made him promise to make a lot of friends so he could bring loads of them with him when he came to the big school with Agron. “Okay,” he says seriously. “Can we go in now?”

Mama laughs and nods, getting to her feet again before she knocks at the door and pushes it open, where a man with dark hair and a wide smile and a guitar stands. “Hello there!” he says cheerily, in the new language that Duro isn’t really great at yet. “I take it you are Duro?”

Duro nods nervously and clutches at his mama’s hand before he remembers that he promised Agron he’d be really brave today. “Ja,” he says. “Mijn naam is Duro Müller.”

Luckily the new language is a lot like German, so it’s not too hard for Duro to understand.

The teacher smiles and shakes Duro’s hand when he sticks it out, like he’s seen papa do when he meets people. “Well, hello, Duro Müller. I’m Rik, and I’m your new teacher for the rest of the school year. Do you want to come in and meet the rest of the class?”

Duro only hesitates a little before following the teacher inside, and then he forgets all about mama and Agron because there’s a television in the classroom and the teacher has a guitar and there’s even a castle with pillows and a lot of toys and a slide. He eagerly bounces to the big orange pillow next to a boy with really dark hair and eyes and pretty skin that is more brown than his own and waves goodbye at his mama before turning to the boy next to him.

“I am Duro,” he says again, speaking slowly so he’s sure to say the words right.

The boy looks at him with wide eyes before he smiles shyly, and Duro has never really thought of someone else as pretty before, except for Ariel from the Little Mermaid and Princess Jasmin from Aladdin, but they’re not real. This boy is though, and he even looks a little like Princess Jasmin—only he is a boy, obviously. “I am Nasir,” the boy finally says, the words coming out just as slowly and carefully as they did with Duro. “Are we going to be friends?”

Duro looks at him carefully and then nods, deciding that the boy seems like a lot of fun. “Best friends.”

.

.

.

**July 1998  
Müller household, Brussels, Belgium**

“Duro, Nasir is here!”

Duro shoves against Agron impatiently and pushes past his brother to stumble down the stairs. He is excited to see his friend, because it is the first time Nasir has been allowed to come over to play since school had ended, and Agron hasn’t met Nasir yet and it is Very Important that his best friend and his big brother like each other.

He and Nasir have gone to the playground with mama a few times, and Nasir’s nanny had taken them to see the new Disney movie—about a girl who pretended to be a boy and then saved the country and still got to marry the prince in the end—when it played in the movie theater, but this is the first time that they are actually going to play in Duro’s house with his toys and his comic books.

Duro is _very_ excited about it.

Nasir is standing next to his own big brother in their hallway, looking incredibly tiny in the large space, smaller than Duro, but with a big smile that automatically makes Duro smile too.

“Hey,” he cheers excitedly as he slides to a stop—socks on their smooth floor is the best thing _ever_ —in front of Nasir and his brother. “We’re going to have so much fun! Papa had someone install a swing and a slide and all kinds of cool things in the backyard and we’ve even got a swimming pool now!”

“That’s so cool!” Nasir cheers excitedly, before turning to his brother with wide eyes and uttering something in a language that is even _more_ different than the one Duro and Agron are still learning.

Nasir’s brother says something back and then pats his little brother’s back before waving at the other two. “I’ll pick him up around eight tonight,” he tells Duro and Agron’s mama, who nods and sees him outside before turning back to the boys.

“Nasir, how about you and Duro go up to his room for a bit? He can show you his games and his comic books, before you go play outside. It’s still a little chilly.” Duro nods and grasps Nasir’s arm, barely waiting for him to get his shoes off before he drags the other boy up the stairs, excited to show him the comic books, and maybe to get Agron to read one of them to him.

Duro isn’t very good with letters yet, so Agron helps him with the comic books.

He tells Nasir all of this as they hurry up the stairs and through the hall, their socks slipping on the smooth hardwood floors as they laugh and giggle. “Do you have Captain America comic books?” Nasir asks curiously as they tumble into Duro’s room in their haste. “My _baba_ got some for me when he went to America for busy-ness.”

Nasir’s nose wrinkles as he pronounces the word in Dutch carefully, shaking his head a little.

“No,” Duro frowns, “I don’t have those. But mama got me a lot of Belgian ones, so I could learn the language a bit. It’s not very different from German though.” Nasir nods solemnly and plops down on the floor at the foot of Duro’s bed as Duro drags the box with comic books from the cupboard.

“Agron!” He yells, “Nasir is here! Come say hello and help us read!”

He hears his brother putter around in his own room, grumbling in German, before turning back to Nasir, who is flipping through one of the orange Belgian comic books with a little wrinkle between his eyebrows. “How old is your brother?” Duro asks curiously, peeking over Nasir’s shoulder to see which comic he’s reading.

“He is… _older_ ,” Nasir grumbles in frustration. “I don’t know the word in Dutch yet. He is allowed to drive since last year. He doesn’t go to school anymore.”

“Oh,” Duro says. “That’s _old_. Agron is old too, but not _that_ old.”

Nasir nods and turns a page. “That’s good. Adam is too old to play with me most of the time.” That sounds horrible, Duro decides, and it’s sad that Nasir has to play alone the whole time.

“I’ll share Agron with you,” he offers. “He’s annoying but he’s fun too, and he does the voices when he reads to me and he pushes the swing _really_ high!” Thinking about it causes excitement to curl in the pit of his belly and he can’t wait to go play again, even though mama said they should wait until it’s a little warmer outside.

Nasir doesn’t say anything, and it’s not until Duro turns to see his friend staring up at the door with flushed cheeks and wide eyes that he sees his big brother in the doorway with a funny face. “Why’re you looking all weird?” he demands, poking Nasir’s shoulder petulantly when they don’t answer.

“You’re really tall,” Nasir blurts, and Duro frowns a little, because _yes_ , his brother is pretty tall, but he’s not _that_ tall, and honestly, everyone is tall compared to Nasir.

“You’re really not,” Agron says back, nose wrinkling weirdly as he says it.

Nasir, however, shrieks and jumps up, shoving the comic book into Duro’s lap as he yells, “You said my words!” And Duro doesn’t know a lot yet, but he knows that the _words_ are important and that the person who says your words is your soulmate. He’s not too sure what a soulmate is, really, other than that they’re really important, and he doesn’t know what to think about his brother and his best friends saying each other’s words.

“You said mine,” Agron shrugs, walking towards Nasir and pushing him down onto the floor again before plopping himself down in front of them, and pulling the comic from Duro’s slack hand. “We can tell mama and your brother later. So, should I read this?” He yelps when Nasir suddenly leans forward though, punching at Agron’s knee.

“I can read,” Nasir says indignantly, pulling the comic back onto his own lap. “You can _help_.”

Duro watches his big brother and his best friend squabble over the comic book and decides that they are really weird, but he likes them and they’re his, so he guesses he’ll have to keep them.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**February 2007  
Müller household, Brussels, Belgium**

Duro grinds his teeth and glares at his brother, who is currently smiling—wide and dimpled—at Duro’s best friend, gesturing wildly as he explains something or other. Duro has little idea of what they’re speaking of because it has been quite some time since he has been allowed into their conversations.

It is hardly the first time it has happened, and Duro doesn’t doubt it will happen again.

They don’t _try_ to exclude him, but it happens nonetheless. Mama has told him it is a side-effect of the soulbond, and that neither his brother nor his best friend can really help themselves.

Nasir has barely left their home since the day he and Agron had met and had spoken their words to each other. Nasir’s parents had outright refused to accept that their son’s soulmate was a boy, and had demanded either permanent separation or adequate compensation—which had led to mama and papa agreeing to take Nasir in, to spare him and Agron the agony of separation.

Duro _loves_ Nasir, much like he loves his brother, but sometimes he _hates_ him.

He took Agron away from him, even though Duro knows, logically, that Agron is still there for him with whatever he needs—he needs only ask. He just wishes he wouldn’t _have_ to. Agron is often preoccupied with Nasir and whatever it is that the younger man needs, but Duro knows his big brother is still _his_ , too.

As it is, he’s spent much more time alone with Nasir, going to movies and amusement parks and trying to skate while laughing hysterically at Nasir’s clumsy attempts to stay vertical with roller-skates on.

It’s been a while though, since they’ve had time to go out to the movies or other _fun_ activities—Nasir had basically locked himself in his room to study for his exams in January and Duro had, much more reluctantly, done the same, while Agron finished all of his exams in two weeks and spent the rest of the time hanging out with Spartacus and his other friends.

Duro kind of just misses hanging out with his brother and his best friend.

He glances back towards where Nasir is sitting on the kitchen counter, dressed in one of Agron’s much-too-large sweaters and jeans, swinging his bare feet back and forth idly, watching as Agron makes lunch for the three of them.

There is a breathless kind of smile upon Nasir’s lips as he looks at Agron, and he almost looks like the lovestruck girls they see in films sometimes, when they catch sight of the hero. It is a little sickening, and Duro knows that there are people who don’t like that his brother is destined to love another man, but he doesn’t quite understand _that_ part.

Honestly, the only reason Duro thinks they’re disgusting is because Agron looks at Nasir as though he’s hung the moon and the stars and it’s sickeningly sweet.

“You almost done?” he finally asks, leaning forward across the counter to tug on the edge of Nasir’s sweater playfully. “Or are you two going to keep making heart eyes at each other?” Nasir splutters, blush rising high upon his cheeks, and Agron chuckles nervously. Duro feels almost bad for the implication, because the fact remains that Agron stands four years older than Nasir and Duro, and it complicates their relationship greatly.

Agron is eighteen already, set to graduate high school in but a few months—Nasir and Duro both still have another three and a half years in high school to go. Agron is prepared for a kind of relationship that Nasir has likely not even thought of—as far as Duro knows, they have never even kissed beyond affectionate kisses upon cheek and forehead.

Much as he likes to complain about his best friend and his brother easily forgetting about him when they are in a room together, Duro wouldn’t want to be in their place, with so much speaking against their evolving relationship.

Even their own father is less than pleased that Agron will likely grow up to marry a boy—even if that boy is Nasir, who they have known for years. At least their mama loves Nasir and has no compunction about his and Agron’s future relationship—Duro is almost certain that she’s been planning their wedding since the moment they’d met.

“It’ll be done in a minute,” Agron finally grumbles, turning back to the stove to poke at the grilled cheese sandwiches that he is preparing. “Get the plates, you lazy git.”

Duro grumbles good-naturedly and shoves at Nasir as he pushes past him to get to the cupboard, listening as Nasir chatters about school and his assignment for Latin, jokingly comparing his teachers to old biddies who had actually been alive when Latin had still been spoken across Europe.

Duro knows that Nasir only talks about his classes with mama and Agron because Duro has a tendency to simply tune him out—not because he is trying to be rude, but because he simply cannot follow Nasir’s train of thought. Nasir had, quite early on, proven to be an eager student with a taste for history and languages, and had been sent to a different school than Duro and Agron at twelve.

Mama likes to listen to Nasir speak of his studies because the subjects always interested her as well—Duro is still half convinced that the only reason Agron listens is because he is whipped as fuck.

He sets the plates on the counter next to Agron and hops onto one of the barstools that they really only use when it is the three of them, too lazy to set the table and eating at the counter instead. “Wanna do math together later?” he asks Nasir absently, pulling his new mobile phone from his pocket to play Snake while they wait for their food to be done.

Nasir wrinkles his nose in disgust, but nods and sighs. “That’s for the best. I’ll probably fail the test again if you don’t help me.” Duro snorts, but doesn’t comment, because it is entirely true. As brilliant as Nasir may be in other fields and subjects, he is absolutely horrendous at math.

“Hush,” Agron scolds them, handing Nasir a plate with two grilled cheese sandwiches before curling his hand around the back of Nasir’s neck and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “You’re going to do fine.”

Duro scoffs, both at his brother’s words and actions, but accepts and digs into his own plate after tossing his cellphone aside. Agron makes a mean grilled cheese sandwich, and he hasn’t been able to make it for them in a while. He has been working on his final school work, with several assignments for each subject and a large overlapping project that takes up ridiculous amounts of Agron’s time.

At least he’ll have a business degree as well as a high school degree when he graduates now. In Agron’s own words: it’ll look great on his CV, and it’ll be worth the hard work. Duro will take his word for it and only be grateful that he did not choose the same classes as his brother had in high school.

They eat in silence for a time, until Agron glances at the clock and swears violently in German, shoving his plate in the general direction of the sink. “I have to go pick up mama,” he mentions as he rushes around the kitchen to collect his things. “We’ll be back in an hour at most. Clean up the kitchen before you do homework, okay?”

He hardly waits for an answer, stopping only to press yet another kiss to Nasir’s cheek and to ruffle Duro’s curls before he rushes out the door, car keys jingling in his hands as he slams the door shut.

Duro grins, mouth full of food, and winks at Nasir. “I guess it’s just us now.”

Nasir rolls his eyes and takes another bite of his food. “Oh joy,” he replies drily.

Duro elects to ignore him and instead continues to eat his grilled cheese.

.

.

.

Duro feels as though he’s stuck in a haze, hands trembling and heart pounding. The police officer still stands in their living room, talking to the social worker lady, who is eyeing Nasir with undisguised interest and worry. The other boy is sitting curled up on the large loveseat, legs pressed to his chest with his arms wrapped tightly around them. His hands are covered by the too-long sleeves of Agron’s sweatshirt, eyes red-rimmed and cheeks wet with shed tears.

They had known something had happened—that something was _wrong_ —almost as soon as it had happened. Nasir had begun crying, begging Duro to call Agron, to call _anyone_ , because something was wrong, Agron was _hurt_ and it terrified the both of them.

The police hadn’t shown up at their door until an hour and a half later, and at that point, Nasir had become largely uncommunicative, leaving Duro to freak out all by himself.

The social worker had insisted on calling Duro’s father, even though Duro knew he’d be in meetings all day and likely wouldn’t answer his phone until it was time for their daily phone call around seven. He still feels weak in the knees when he recalls the social worker lady—“please, call me Karen”—sitting down with him and Nasir and telling them there had been an accident involving his mama and brother.

He looks at the police officer again and swallows thickly before timidly asking, “Can we go see them?”

He gestures back to where Nasir’s curled up on the seat. “We’re going crazy with worry, and Nasir and Agron don’t do well with separation—they haven’t really been apart much since they bonded.” It is not exactly the truth, but he is not above exploiting the whole soulbond thing a little if it gets them to see his mama and his big brother sooner.

He doesn’t miss the raised eyebrows and the skeptical look that the two adults share before the social worker shakes her head. “They’re not listed as soulmates,” the woman finally says, though she genuinely looks concerned when she glances towards Nasir, who has yet to respond to anything.

“Does that _matter_?” Duro demands impatiently, hands curling into fists in frustration and fear. “The only reason they’re not listed is because Nasir’s not sixteen yet! They’re my _family_ , Nasir’s family. We just want to go to the hospital.” He could make a scene out of this, and he definitely feels like it, but he knows mama and Agron expect him and Nasir to take care of each other, and causing a scene would not do anyone any good.

Instead, he swallows his fear as best as he can and carefully sits down beside Nasir as the adults talk.

Nasir barely stirs at all, eyes fastened onto the far wall, decorated with pictures of him and Duro and Agron, fingers twitching against the seam of his jeans. Duro feels a little guilty then, for forgetting how badly separation affects Nasir and Agron sometimes, for being jealous of the soulbond and for whining about Nasir and Agron forgetting the rest of the world—and him—sometimes.

His hand briefly slips down to scratch at his upper thigh, where his own words curve around the muscle, as of yet unspoken. It’s not unusual, he knows—he’s only fourteen. Most people don’t meet their soulmate until much later in life—and his brother and his best friend are exceptions to the rule.

He shoots another glance at Nasir, who has his fingers curled tightly around his own wrist, where Duro knows his soulmark is, rocking back and forth gently. Nasir’s words are looped around his right wrist, much like a bracelet, in Agron’s scratchy handwriting, while Nasir’s loopy script flows across his brother’s collarbones.

They annoy the shit out of him sometimes, but Agron is his brother and Nasir is his best friend and Duro has no idea how he’s supposed to deal with _anything_ if something bad were to happen to either of them. “You’d know, right?” he croaks suddenly, surprised by the wavering of his own voice, swallowing thickly when Nasir looks up at him in question. “If he—if—you would _know_ , right?”

“Yeah,” Nasir nods shakily, voice scratchy with disuse. “I think so anyway.”

Duro nods, but his heart squeezes painfully in his chest, and the only thing he can do to keep himself from falling apart is to curl his own fingers around Nasir’s wrist too, without actually looking at him, eyes locking on the wall too, waiting until the policeman and the social worker decide what to do.

They sit like that, curled together, entwined fingers wrapped around Nasir’s wrist, for a few more hours, Nasir finally, restlessly dozing off against Duro’s shoulder. He takes it as a good sign, because if something was _seriously_ wrong with Agron, Duro is sure Nasir wouldn’t be able to relax at all, but it does less to reassure him than he’d like.

He just wants his mama and his brother.

He startles when the social worker suddenly puts her hand on his shoulder, offering him a kind smile. “Your father just called us back,” she tells him quietly. “We’re going to take you to the hospital to see your brother now, and your father will be home in a few hours.”

Duro nods stiffly, not missing that she said nothing about seeing his mother, causing fear to coil in the pit of his stomach, and gently shakes Nasir to wake him, reading the question in the other boy’s eyes before he’s even asked. “They’re taking us to the hospital,” he says softly. “Put on some shoes.”

Nasir stares at him for a moment before nodding shakily and stumbling to his feet, rushing towards the hallway where they’d left their shoes after carelessly kicking them off earlier. Duro follows at a more sedate pace, unsure of what to think or do other than follow the adults, because at least they’ll take him to his mother and brother.

The car ride passes in a blur, and all Duro finds himself truly aware of is that at least he knows Agron is not dead, and neither is his mother—surely they would have told him if she were.

Nasir has fallen silent again, eyes unfocused and unseeing, fingers rubbing over the writing on his wrist continuously, and fear and uncertainty thrum beneath Duro’s skin, and he wants to _snap_ , to yell and to scream until he is safely seen to his family’s arms again.

The hospital, when they arrive, is quiet, nurses moving through the long hallways with practiced ease and deliberate silence, and it sets Duro’s nerves on edge even more.

He keeps his fingers curled around Nasir’s arm, tugging him along steadily, because he is almost certain that, should he release him, Nasir would not move at all, as affected as he is by separation sickness. It is, after all, the longest Agron and Nasir have been separated since they had bonded.

Even on school days, they would call each other during lunch breaks to stave off the effects of the bond—it is the main reason Nasir and Duro have cell phones of their own, too.

“Duro, Nasir,” the social worker says with a kind smile as a tall woman with dark, gleaming skin and a grim frown wrinkling her forehead, dressed in baby blue scrubs follows her. “This is Dr. Dubois. She treated your brother, and she’s going to talk to her colleagues to find out where your mother is right now.” He is sure she meant it to be comforting, but the idea that they have no idea where his mom is in the hospital only makes Duro feel sick to his stomach.

Before he can say anything though, the doctor shoves forward and reaches for Nasir, who’s pale and shaky, more so than Duro had even noticed, and he feels a pang of guilt for being so caught up in his own thoughts that he hadn’t even noticed how poorly Nasir was feeling.

“Nasir?” he asks worriedly, reaching for his friend, only to be pushed back by the doctor.

“He just needs to see Agron,” he exclaims, angrily trying to pull his arm from the social worker’s tight grasp as the doctor examines Naseer. “He’ll be fine once he sees him. Agron can’t be much better—it’s been hours since they saw each other!”

“They are bonded?” the doctor demands harshly, her accent—French, he’s guessing—lilting the words, glaring at Duro as though this is _his_ fault. “And you did not come to the hospital sooner?”

“She didn’t believe me!” Duro yells angrily, pointing at the social worker, who has the gall to look affronted when the doctor rounds on her. “I told her they were soulmates as soon as she told us Agron and mama were in the hospital!”

“They’re not listed,” the social worker stutters, blush staining her cheeks. “I was just—”

Dr. Dubois aims a withering glare towards the social worker, cutting off her stuttered explanation, before shaking her head and curling her fingers around Nasir’s wrist and leading him towards one of the rooms. Duro tugs his arm out of the social worker’s grasp and follows them, heart pounding high in his throat, because _finally_ someone is letting him see his brother.

Fine, letting Nasir see his brother, but Duro’s not about to let the opportunity slip from him.

He follows them into a private hospital room, much smaller than the one he himself had occupied and shared with three others after getting his wisdom teeth removed.

His breath catches in his throat when he catches a glimpse of his brother on the hospital bed, looking much smaller and less imposing than he had in _years_ , pale, with both hands resting on pillows at his sides, splinted and bandaged with fingertips that are so badly bruised and swollen he can barely even tell they are his hands at all.

Most of his attention is diverted when a choked sob falls from Nasir’s lips, a deep, guttural sound that makes him shiver even as Nasir rushes towards Agron, who is lightly stirring, eyes blinking open lazily to take in Nasir’s undoubtedly teary eyes as the younger man leans over him, obviously _dying_ to touch Agron, but unsure of _where_ to put his hands to avoid hurting him.

“I’m okay, little man,” Agron whispers weakly, and it _terrifies_ Duro, because he’s never heard his brother sound so faint and so weak, and he’s not even looking at Duro or even acknowledging his little brother’s presence—like he hadn’t been _just_ as worried as Nasir had been.

“Don’t call me that, you big lug,” Nasir scolds tearfully. “You scared the hell out of us!”

Duro steps forward hesitantly when Agron rolls his head slightly to the side, blinking sluggishly as he looks at Duro, before his lips turn up into the dopey kind of grin Duro has only ever seen him direct at Nasir. “Hey little brother,” he grins. “You were worried?”

“Yeah,” Duro says thickly, joining Nasir at his brother’s bedside, trying to ignore the way Nasir’s fingers trail across Agron’s collarbone, where Nasir’s words curl across Agron’s skin.

“Silly,” Agron hums, head lolling back onto his pillow as his eyes flutter shut again. “I’m okay.”

Duro almost believes him.

.

.

.

**Three weeks later  
Müller household, Brussels, Belgium**

“I don’t want to go.”

Duro’s voice is thick with unshed tears, and he feels stiff and uncomfortable in the suit his father and grandparents insisted he wear. Saxa snorts and tosses a packet of gum at his head from where she is lounging on his bed, long blond curls splayed out across his dark blue comforter, her black dress just on the right side of indecent.  

“All you have to do is stand there and look pretty, _kleiner Neffe_. That’s all your dad wants from you.”

Duro sighs and pops the gum in his mouth so he won’t have to actually _say_ anything. He has less than half an hour before he is expected to put in an appearance downstairs for the masses that have turned up for his mother's funeral; to pretend they’re devastated about the car accident that took her life.

Most of them never even met her.

They’re business associates of his father’s, here to schmooze and talk business after the burial, using his mother’s _death_ as a fucking _business opportunity_.

Agron, barely out of the hospital and still barely capable of standing upright without Nasir or Duro holding him steady, had sent him upstairs with their cousin Saxa to cool off after he nearly bit off someone’s head when they tried to engage him in small talk.

“They didn’t even know her,” he finally grumbles, swallowing thickly when tears burn in his eyes. “I don’t even know why they’re here.”

Saxa grins and shrugs one shoulder. “They’re grown-ups. And humans. They suck. Ignore them.”

“You’re a grown-up,” he replies petulantly, barely resisting the urge to pout at her. He hadn’t seen Saxa in four years before she and the rest of their family from Germany made the trip to Brussels after Agron and mama’s accident in order to help papa out.

They’d stayed longer after mama had… After his dad had decided to…

He _aches_ at the mere thought because it still doesn’t feel _real_ , and he still expects to wake up and walk down to the kitchen to find Nasir and Agron being gross and cute and his mom making them breakfast while laughing at them—

Not this…

This half-life where his mama is _gone_ and his brother may never be able to use his hands again and Nasir can’t bring himself to stray from Agron’s side for longer than ten minutes at a time and everyone is so damned _sad_ all the time.

“Come, _kleiner Neffe_ ,” Saxa drawls eventually. “Let’s go make fun of old rich people trying to suck up to your dad.” She stands gracefully and brushes off her dress, extending her hand towards Duro to drag him up from his desk chair. He grudgingly allows her to do so and to drag him down the stairs, where they’re immediately swamped by said old rich people.

He feels like he spends _hours_ talking to people, but he’s never felt more… _alone_.

He catches a glimpse of Agron and Nasir, who are standing by the fireplace together, Agron leaning heavily on Nasir’s shoulder, both hands still bandaged and bruises on his arms and face in the later stages of healing, turning yellow and green. Duro has yet to see them separately since the accident, and though he knows— _he knows, okay_ —that they’re just trying to recover and deal with everything too, it feels like they’ve just decided to leave him out of it altogether.

Agron hadn’t even tried to hug him when mama had died. He’d been too busy holding Nasir, crying quiet tears of his own that dripped into the younger man’s hair as they stood and waited for mama to take her last breath after all machines had been turned off.

Duro swallows thickly and turns away from his big brother and his best friend.

His mama just died.

He’s too tired and too hurt and too sad to deal with them right now.

He doesn’t really care all that much anymore to begin with.

Nothing really seems to matter anymore.

He just wants mama back.

.

.

.

**December 2008  
Almasi household, Brussels, Belgium**

“Truth or dare!”

Both Duro and Nasir groan dramatically when Naevia Almasi’s shout is heard above all other suggestions for games to play before they go to the Christmas party held at Agron, Duro and Nasir’s house, but they are quickly outnumbered by their classmates, who seem all too eager to make fools of themselves.

“Fine,” Duro whines, kicking at Nasir’s leg petulantly when the other boy elbows him in the ribs. “Fine.”

“It’ll be _fun_ ,” Naevia insists, long curled hair bouncing around her shoulders as she leans forward to smile at him. Diona, sitting by her side with a more demure, shy smile, eyes Naevia somewhat distrustfully, but doesn’t say anything to deter her friend from her plans. He looks away quickly, before the girl can catch him staring— _again_ —because he doesn’t want to be creepy, and he’s still not quite over the disappointment he’d felt when they had first spoken to each other and he had realized she wasn’t the one to utter his words, no matter how much he’d hoped she would be.

He’d had a crush on Diona since she joined his school and Naevia came to Nasir’s school in September, having moved to Brussels with their adoptive parents for their father’s job.

Nasir had befriended Naevia almost immediately, and brought her and Diona over to the house a few times to do homework and hang out together, and Duro had hoped he could meet Diona more easily like that too, but it had still taken him a month and a half to gather up enough courage to actually say anything to her, and he had been _crushed_ when the words she first said to him were not his words—not even close.

Chadara, one of Nasir’s other close friends, had been the only one to notice he’d acted a little different towards Diona afterwards, and Duro can’t even begin to express how much it _hurt_ that his supposed best friend couldn’t even see these things anymore.

Had he and Nasir really grown apart that much in so little time?

“I’ll start!” Naevia exclaims, dragging him from his depressing thoughts, bouncing up and down in her seat as she aims a devilish grin towards Nasir and— _oh_. Oh.

He sees where this is going now.

They probably should have known that a game of truth or dare would turn into an opportunity to wheedle more information about the soulbond and Nasir’s relationship with Agron.

Their friends are unduly fascinated with Duro’s big brother and it’s a little disgusting to think about, because he knows they’re all a little too interested in knowing whether or not Nasir and Agron are sleeping together yet, and Duro _really_ does _not_ want to know about his best friend’s sex life—or lack thereof—with his older brother.

Besides.

They’re all way too young to actually _have_ a sex life, aren’t they?

Nasir is four months shy of sixteen, sure, but Duro is barely fifteen, and most of their friends are _younger_ than he is too, and Duro has never even had a girlfriend for any length of time, and he knows none of the others have either. Nasir is the only one of them that has anything resembling a relationship, and he’s pretty sure Nasir and Agron have been purposefully not doing anything sexual yet, because Agron is almost twenty and Nasir barely sixteen and it’s a little scary—and…

Well, the whole soulmate thing complicates things rather than simplifies them.

Nasir had told him once that when he and Agron would take the next step in their relationship, their soulbond would solidify and ensure a more intimate relationship than they would be capable of having right now, with Agron studying in Ghent and Nasir finishing high school in Brussels.

“Truth or dare, Nasir?”

The words drag Duro from his thoughts and he chuckles a little at the weary sigh that falls from Nasir’s lips before he replies. “Truth, then. Let’s get it over with.” The girls in the group squeal, and Duro aims a desperate look towards Pietros, who looks back with an expression that tells him he, too, is all too resigned to their fate.

Naevia grins wickedly and leans forward, biting her lower lip in contemplation before she asks, blunt as ever, “So have you and Agron done it yet?”

The entire group whistles, catcalling and winking when Nasir blushes deeply, shaking his head as he tries to avoid the question, begging Naevia for a different one. Honestly, Duro wouldn’t mind a game of truth or dare where things _weren’t_ about Agron and Nasir for fucking once.

Neavia, however, is relentless, refusing to take back the question, ribbing Nasir until he finally snaps. “Fuck the Gods,” Nasir exclaims exasperatedly, rubbing a hand through his hair. “No, we haven’t. Can we just not bring it up _again_? What I do or don’t do with Agron is really no one’s business but ours.”

Duro exhales in relief, because often, Nasir would indulge people, blushing and shy as he did so. Not because he _liked_ the attention—Duro had known him long enough to know better—but because Nasir didn’t know how to say ‘no’ to people’s genuine curiosity.

Agron, on the other hand, was more likely to bite someone’s face off if they asked questions of slightly too intimate nature. It’s a miracle he and Spartacus had remained friends for as long as they had.

The group surrounding them boos in disappointment, but Nasir remains firm and turns to Duro instead, demanding, “Truth or dare?” before anyone can protest or try to wheedle more out of him.

Duro only sighs.

It’s going to be a long night.

.

.

.

**Müller household, Brussels, Belgium**

There is cheery Christmas music playing and their house is filled with his father’s coworkers, all dressed in appropriately fancy clothes while waiters wind their way between the guests, carrying trays of hors d’oeuvres and flutes of champagne and orange juice, and Duro swears he hates everything about it.

He is not feeling particularly festive, and if his father hadn’t threatened to ground him until next year, he would have locked himself in his room and played video games all night instead.

Their lives had turned into an endless parade of dinner dates and handshaking, their father insisting on showing a united front as a family, even after such devastating loss, and Duro almost felt like he’d lost his entire family the day his mother died.

It’s not like he hadn’t still spent time with his brother and with Nasir in the nearly two years that followed, but mostly that Nasir and Agron have barely spent any time apart at all since the accident. Agron had graduated on schedule, but postponed starting university until the bond between him and Nasir had settled down a little again, which took the better part of six months.

Agron had only taken classes during the second semester of that year, and postponed actually moving to Ghent until Nasir finished high school and could join him. Their father had been making noises about possibly asking a woman he worked with out on a date, and everyone is moving forward, planning for the future, except for him.

They’re all leaving him behind, and it doesn’t feel like anyone’s even going to miss him.

“What are you doing here in a corner all by yourself?” He looks up to find Diona standing before him, black locks braided back to keep them from falling into her eyes, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she looks up at him.

His breath catches in his throat, but he manages to smile—he thinks so anyway—at her as she hands him a flute of orange juice and bumps their shoulders together playfully.

“Just trying to avoid the old ladies that want to pinch my cheeks and tell me how grown up I’m looking,” he replies grumpily, rolling his eyes when an elderly lady with grey hair piled on top of her head and an entirely unflattering pink dress reaches out to pinch and pat Agron’s cheek, disregarding that she can barely reach his cheek at all, and ignoring Nasir’s baffled expression from where he stands with Naevia, a little behind Agron.

“I’m sorry about Naevia,” Diona says quietly, reaching out to touch his arm, and Duro tries desperately to pretend that his skin isn’t tingling where hers brushed over it. “Earlier. She just wanted to tease Nasir. He’s been so close-lipped about Agron… We were just curious.”

“Yeah,” he snorts, looking away from Diona to where his brother and Nasir are standing, Agron’s arm casually tossed around Nasir’s shoulders as Nasir leans into him. “People always are.”

Diona is silent by his side, and he feels bad immediately, because at least she is trying to talk to _him_. Most people try to ignore him because he is the younger, insignificant brother—the one that did not meet his soulmate at ten and that did not beat the odds and who managed to graduate with honors without losing the soulmate connection or falling into bed with someone else while waiting for his soulmate to reach the moment they’d be ready to enter into an actual relationship.

“Sorry,” he sighs, turning back to Diona and offering her a soft smile. “People have always been really weird about the whole soulmate thing. I just get a little tired of it.”

“I can imagine,” Diona offers empathetically. “I promise I won’t bring it up tonight.”

And she doesn’t.

They spend hours talking in the corner, filching snacks and drinks from the passing waiters and mocking the other guest’s fashion choices, and Duro feels lighter and happier than he has in a very long time. Diona is funnier and livelier than he had ever thought she was, and she likes comic books and skating too, and Duro is just a little bit in love with her by the time that most guests are filtering out of the house.

There’s still music playing and there’s some people dancing, swaying lazily to old tunes that all of them know by heart, and Duro’s stomach clenches when he catches sight of Agron and Nasir wrapped in each other’s arms, trading soft kisses as they sway to the music.

“They are cute though,” Diona pipes up from beside him, bumping their shoulders together playfully so he’ll look at her again. He must admit he much prefers looking at her. “I think we could do better, don’t you?” she adds, winking at him when he gapes at her, unsure of what to do or say to that.

She just laughs at him and tugs on his hand until they’re stood in the middle of the makeshift dancefloor, slinging her arms around his neck while he gingerly puts his around her waist, feeling slightly nauseated, because he has _no idea_ what he’s doing or what this _means_. Does this mean that she likes him, too? That it doesn’t matter that they’re not soulmates?

How can it not matter though?

He knows his parents weren’t soulmates, and he _knows_ a lot of people never meet their soulmate and that they have happy relationships anyway, but seeing the way Agron and Nasir are together, Duro has always kind of expected to eventually find his own soulmate and have the same kind of relationship—he has no idea what to do with having _feelings_ for someone who isn’t his soulmate.

It’s _scary_.

“Hey,” Diona says quietly, drawing his attention back to her. “You know we don’t actually have to make this into something more, right?” Her voice is kind but he can tell she’s disappointed, despite keeping a sweet smile on her lips as she looks up at him.

“I kind of want to though,” he admits gingerly, his heart beating a mile a minute as he watches her smile transform from shy and small to wide and bright as the sun.

“Yeah?”

He nods shakily. “Yeah.”

They’ve stopped swaying at that point, and Duro’s breath catches in his throat when she leans up onto the tips of her toes and draws him in, sharing a breath before their lips brush—

He would swear his heart stops beating for a split second before it starts racing. It’s his first kiss and he has no idea what it’s supposed to feel like, but he hadn’t expected it to be so simple. Their lips press together chastely and her lips are really soft and taste like blueberry chapstick, and he kind of wants to press harder, hold her tighter, but he doesn’t dare to because he doesn’t know _how_ or even if that’s something she wants from him.

He really should have listened more when Nasir told him about kissing Agron the first time.

Finally Diona leans back, breaking the kiss and smiling softly at him.

“I’d never done that before,” he blurts, cheeks burning with heat when Diona chuckles. “I don’t have any idea what to do now.”

“It’s okay,” Diona grins, pulling him in again. “We can figure that out together.”

That sounds like a pretty good compromise to him.

.

.

.

**June 2011  
Hoofdstedelijk Atheneum Karel Buls, Brussels, Belgium **

“These students graduate with high honor in Greek-Latin Sciences: Claire Cocquyt, Chadara Cornelissen, Nasir Labaton—”

Duro cheers loudly along with Agron and Spartacus, disregarding the disapproving looks other parents cast upon them, laughing at Nasir’s furious blush as he moves to the front of the auditorium to receive his diploma from his class teacher. Duro’s high school graduation had taken place the previous day, and his brother, Nasir, and their friends had caused just as much embarrassment for him when his name was called.

He looks forward to spending their evening celebrating their respective graduations, away from his and Agron’s father, who has not even bothered to show up to Nasir’s graduation, as though Nasir had not been living with them for the past thirteen years.

As if Nasir is not going to be a part of their family for the rest of their lives.

“Are you sure you will not join us, brother?” Agron asks quietly as they retake their seats, never once tearing his eyes from Nasir, who is waiting for the rest of his classmates to receive their diplomas before retaking his own seat. “We would not have you left behind.”

Nasir and Agron are set to leave for a holiday the day after next, their first together as a couple. They had invited him along, but Duro has very little interest in tagging along on their love-fest. Now that Nasir has graduated and he and Agron are set to move in together in August, so Nasir can begin his studies at the University of Ghent while Agron finishes his Master’s degree, Duro is pretty sure it’ll take them only hours of being alone together to take the last steps to complete their soulbond.

“I have no interest in being a third wheel, Agron,” he sighs, nudging his brother with a grin.

Agron makes a face, and Duro knows he probably feels guilty, for being so caught up in his plans for the future with Nasir, but he can’t find the words to relieve said guilt.

The three of them had taken care, in the past years, to repair their relationship as much as they could, but Duro is reluctant to admit that resentment still burns deep within, to see his brother and his best friend so happily planning for their future without much regard for Duro’s plans.

He’s even more reluctant to admit that he really just wants what they have.

“We’ve told you,” Agron whispers as Nasir’s principal steps up to speak again. “You’re more than welcome to bring someone along. I know you and Pietros—”

“ _Don’t_ ,” Duro hisses sharply, drawing his eyes away from the front of the room to glare at his brother. “Don’t you dare. You _know_ Pietros and I haven’t—there’s nothing…” He breaks off and shakes his head, rubbing his hands through his curled hair. “Just drop it, okay?”

Agron taps his fingers on the back of Duro’s hand in apology, but drops the subject of Duro’s love life, or lack thereof, as requested. It does not, however, stop Duro’s mind from continuing on, thoughts drifting to Pietros and their reasons for not starting anything even closely resembling a relationship right now.

It’s only common sense, honestly.

Duro is set to spend a year in Germany, taking his first year at university in the city where he was born, while Pietros is staying in Belgium, having taken and passed the entrance exam for medical school. It would be _weird_ for them to start dating so soon after Duro and Diona had broken up, even though the main reason they had broken up was that Duro had feelings for Pietros and knew those feelings were reciprocated.

He and Diona had been together off and on for the past three years, and they’d only properly broken things off two months ago, when Duro had kissed Pietros on a dare and hadn’t thought to stop, despite all of their friends and his girlfriend watching them.

So honestly, while he and Pietros both _wanted_ , they both agreed now was not the time.

Duro swallows thickly and looks down, shaking his head a little. Besides, by the time he’ll be back next year, Pietros might very well have met his own soulmate, or moved on in general.

 _Duro_ might meet someone in München.

There’re endless possibilities, and he would not lose a really good friend because they chose to give into their hormones at the wrong time.

He is only drawn from his thoughts when applause sounds yet again and all graduating classes get to their feet again before they scatter towards their families in the audience. Duro shakes his melancholy thoughts and stands up, first to catch a jubilant Nasir in his arms as the other man cheers, nearly dropping the folder containing his diploma and other documents as he thumps Duro on the back enthusiastically. “We’re done!” Nasir exclaims, leaning back from the hug with a smile so wide, it _has_ to be hurting his cheeks. “We’re _finished_ , Duro!”

Nasir’s enthusiasm and excitement is contagious, and soon Duro’s forgotten his troubled thoughts, laughing along with his best friend, sharing teasing remarks as they flip through the folder with Nasir’s report card and diploma for only a moment before Agron swoops in with boisterous laughter and sweeps Nasir off his feet into a bear hug while Duro and Spartacus watch in amusement.

“I am _so_ proud of you,” Agron tells Nasir in a tender whisper that Duro is _sure_ isn’t meant for his ears. “Du bist ein Wunder, mein Schatz.” Duro diligently pretends not to have heard his brother’s sappy declaration even as Nasir coos and tiptoes to press his lips to Agron’s for a far-from-appropriate kiss.

“Come,” Spartacus finally interrupts, breaking Nasir and Agron apart with practiced ease. “There’s free drinks at the reception, and then we have a party to get to.”

Duro grins, because they have been going to parties non-stop this week—tonight is the last they’ll all be able to attend together for a while though, and he would make the most of it. “Come on then,” he exclaims happily, squeezing himself between Agron and Nasir before tossing an arm around each of their shoulders. “Let’s get to the free booze part!”

They’re going to have _fun_.

.

.

.

**Cocquyt household, Brussels, Belgium**

The night _really_ doesn’t go as he’d planned.

“Pietros,” he whines, a breathless gasp falling from his lips as the other boy scrapes his teeth over Duro’s earlobe. “Pietros, _shit_ , I thought we weren’t—we’re not supposed to—”

“Shut _up_ , Duro,” Pietros chuckles against his skin, pressing up against Duro until all he can feel is the weight of Pietros’ body against his. “I know you want this, too… Let’s just have this. Let’s just enjoy ourselves and stop _thinking_ all the damned time.”

Duro gasps as Pietros kisses down his throat, nipping at the skin there almost aggressively.

“But what about—”

“I don’t _care_ about him,” Pietros cuts him off almost viciously, sounding so wholly unlike himself for a moment that Duro pushes him back, startled by the sudden change in mood.

To be perfectly honest, the entire night had baffled him, from witnessing his brother trying to swallow Nasir’s lips to seeing Pietros meet a tall, dark-haired man that spoke the words curved around Pietros’ neck. His heart had _broken_ , because he’d seen his chance with Pietros slip away before they’d even gotten the chance to _try_ to be something more—

And then the other man had shoved Pietros away, and though Duro had been too far away to hear the words that were exchanged, he’d seen the way Pietros’ shoulders had drooped, even before he had stormed back over to Duro and demanded drinks and dancing. It hadn’t taken too much longer for them to end up in an empty bedroom with Pietros’ tongue in Duro’s mouth after that.

“I don’t care about some guy I just met,” Pietros repeats, softer this time, smoothing his hands down Duro’s chest. “And even if I had, he didn’t want me anyway. I don’t care about a man that I don’t know, Duro, soulmate or not. I care about _you,_ okay?”

Pietros’ eyes are wide and sincere, and Duro’s heart squeezes a little in his chest before he nods shakily, barely managing to smile before Pietros’ lips are on his again, his hands soft but insistent on Duro’s cheeks. Duro kisses him back, slipping his fingers in the other man’s curled hair for purchase, gasping against Pietros’ lips when he deepens the kiss, tugging Duro’s shirt up until they _have_ to break the kiss to tug it over his head.

Duro grins a little at the breathless look of desire Pietros gives him and pulls him back in, the kiss messier this time, with clacking teeth and too much tongue and Duro _loves_ every second of it.

Pietros’ hold on his hair is _just_ on the right edge of painful as he drags Duro’s head back, mouthing his way down Duro’s throat with hot, open-mouthed kisses. “Fuck,” Duro moans, heart pounding as he allows himself to get _lost_ in Pietros.

The world tilts alarmingly for a moment when Pietros manoeuvres them onto the bed, his lips once again occupying Duro’s in a downright _filthy_ kiss, and Duro vaguely thinks that he wants to kill whoever taught Pietros to kiss like this out of sheer jealousy. They grapple for control for a while, feverishly attempting to unbutton trousers without breaking the kiss.

Duro groans, eyes rolling back in his head and blunt fingernails digging into Pietros’ shoulders when Pietros bites down on the skin just above his collarbone before soothing over the mark with his tongue.

“ _Pietros_ ,” he whines, slipping his hands down Pietros’ back to his bottom, pulling his hips down to grind on his own and _holy fucking shit_ —

Pietros shudders in his arms, his eyes slipping shut for a short moment before he moves to straddle Duro’s legs, slipping his fingers between Duro’s and drawing their hands up until they’re resting above Duro’s head. “Keep them there,” Pietros tells him, his eyes dark and pupils blown wide before he leans in for a slower, deeper kiss than before. Duro’s eyes flutter shut as Pietros slides his tongue along his own in an erotic kiss that Duro has _never_ experienced before.

 _Holy shit_.

The kiss grows more frantic and desperate, and Duro almost thinks… No, he _knows_ Pietros is trying to claim his territory. He finds that, as Pietros rakes his fingernails over Duro’s nipples and grinds their cocks against one another, he does not mind being marked as Pietros’ one bit.

He cannot quite contain the whimper that falls from his lips, and he can feel Pietros smile.

Pietros’ hands skim down Duro’s chest, slipping his fingers underneath the waistband of Duro’s trousers and tugging them down impatiently. He can’t suppress a gasp when his erection is freed and arches into Pietros’ touch when the younger man wraps his fingers around his length.

Pietros hums amusedly against his lips before breaking the kiss. “Someone’s excited,” he mutters, and Duro wants to smack—or kiss—that mischievous grin from Pietros’ lips.

 “ _Jesus fuck_ , Pietros,” Duro groans, reaching up to tangle his fingers in Pietros’ hair. “Get on with it, you fucking tease.”

“Watch who you’re calling a tease, _pretty boy_ ,” Pietros murmurs as he kisses his way down Duro’s chest, gazing up at Duro from beneath his lashes, lips pressing a kiss to the tip of Duro’s cock as he wraps his fingers around the base. Duro’s head falls back onto the pillow, relishing in the _delicious_ feel of Pietros’ hands and lips on him, moaning loudly as he tugs on Pietros’ hair.

It feels _so_ much better than he’d ever even imagined.

He’s not got much experience with boys, but _holy hell_ , Pietros is ruining him for everyone that will come after him. He’s _so close_ , teetering on the edge, his fingers tangled in Pietros’ curls, when the door to the bedroom they’re in slams open.

“What the fuck!” Duro exclaims, watching as the man who had spoken Pietros’ words—Pietros’ soulmate, a treacherous little voice in the back of his mind whispers—rights himself, fingers clenched in another man’s shirt, their lips swollen and pupils blown wide. “Knock next time,” Duro hisses, watching as the blond shoots Pietros a venomous look before dragging the tall dark-headed man outside again, slamming the door behind them.

He takes a deep, shuddering breath before he turns back to Pietros, who is still kneeling on the bed, eyes wide and swollen lips parted as he stares at the door. His fingers are rubbing at the soulmark, and Duro has seen both his brother and Nasir repeat the motion often enough to know what it means.

“Do you feel the draw?” he asks slowly, unsure of whether he actually _wants_ to know.

“It itches,” Pietros croaks, drawing his gaze back to Duro and Duro’s heart nearly _shatters_ at the sound of _agony_ in Pietros’ voice. It hurts more than anything else _ever_ would—knowing that much as Pietros might like—even love—him now, he will always ache for the other man in some capacity, even if they did not complete the initial stages of bonding, and there’s nothing they can do to _change_ that.

He falls silent, unsure of what to do or say when Pietros shudders and leans into him, curling his fingers back in Duro’s hair. “Kiss me again,” he demands, climbing into Duro’s lap.

“Whatever you want,” Duro breathes, tangling his fingers in Pietros’ hair as he presses kisses to his jaw. “I’m all yours, Pietros. Whatever you want.”

Pietros is quiet only for a second before he grinds himself down on Duro’s still _painful_ hard-on.

“I only want you.”

 Duro has to admit he is only too happy to oblige.

.

.

.

**August 2011  
Zaventem International Airport, Brussels, Belgium**

Duro paces impatiently, tapping his foot against the tiled floors as he glances up to the large sign that shows his flight number and gate. He’s got an hour to get through security and board the damned plane and still there’s no sign of his brother _or_ his best friend.

“They’ll be here.”

He turns back to where Pietros, Diona, and Naevia are standing beside his carry-on bag, having already checked in the rest of his luggage.

“They were supposed to be here an hour ago,” Duro spits, grinding his teeth in frustration as he checks his watch _again_. Agron was supposed to drive Duro to the airport and see him off, with Nasir joining them, of course, because it’d be the last time they’d see each other for months, and Duro liked to think that they at least cared enough to tear themselves from their bed for a couple of hours.

“I’m sure they just got held up in traffic,” Naevia offers, though she sounds less certain than she would like, Duro’s sure. It’s not the first time Nasir and Agron have stood them up since they’d completed their soulbond in July and it’s getting a little old.

“I’ll just try calling Nasir again,” Diona suggests sheepishly, moving a little away from him and Pietros, with Naevia trailing behind her as she mutters about getting them all some coffee while they wait.

“Duro,” Pietros says quietly as he steps closer, their fingers tangling together. “They’ll be here. You know they love you, that they want to be here to say goodbye to you.” Duro sighs heavily but doesn’t reply, all too familiar with Agron and Nasir’s tendency to forget the world by now to really try to say anything on the subject anymore.

He’s just… _so_ done with them sidelining him in his own damn life.

“Can we… Let’s just _not_ talk about them, please?” he requests quietly, leaning his forehead against his… _whatever_ he and Pietros are at this point.

Pietros chuckles, and they are close enough that Duro can feel the other man’s breath on his lips, and he knows he needs but tilt his head forward to be kissing him again—as they’ve been doing practically without coming up for air for the past month. “What do you want to talk about then?”

“Who says I want to talk at all?” he breathes, leaning in to brush his lips across Pietros’ before a mechanical voice interrupts them, calling out Duro’s flight number and gate, reminding all passengers that boarding will begin soon.

“Fuck,” he breathes, pulling away from Pietros in disappointment, something deep inside his chest squeezing when he realizes that he has to go, and he’ll have to do it without saying goodbye to his big brother or his best friend. He shoots one more furtive glance around the boarding hall before he shakes his head and turns back to Pietros, pressing a quick, deep kiss to his lips before pulling back.

“I am going to miss you,” Pietros sighs sadly, pressing his fingers to Duro’s cheek in an attempt to keep him close . “Don’t fall in love with someone else while you’re over there.”

The words are said as a joke, Duro knows, but the possibility still exists, and it hurts both of them.

“I won’t,” he promises, smiling half-heartedly as he kisses Pietros one more time before turning to Diona and Naevia, who throw their arms around him to hug him tightly, whispering soft goodbyes and pleas not to forget them while in Germany.

“Guys,” he chuckles, carefully extracting himself from their embrace. “It’s only like a seven-hour drive. The flight is a little over an hour. Come visit me. I’ll come see you guys for Christmas or something.”

Naevia nods, and though her eyes shimmer with tears, she offers him a bright grin and shoves him towards the security desks. “Go already, Müller. We’ll see you in December.”

Duro smirks but does as she says, grabbing his backpack from the floor and shooting one more furtive glance towards the doors, _wishing_ for his big brother to run through them, to sweep him up in one of those great bear hugs and apologize—

The fantasy bursts when a gaggle of tourists step through the doors instead, and Duro swallows thickly, disappointment and _hurt_ aching deep within his chest.

He doesn’t know why he thought this time might be different.

Agron and Nasir have always gotten too caught up in each other to stop and think about Duro and what he needs and wants. It’s only gotten worse since they completed the last steps to seal the soulbond—really, he should have known better than to expect anything.

Pietros catches his eye again, offering a soft, tender smile that lifts Duro’s heart to better spirits without even trying, and he shudders out a deep sigh, returning the smile before turning to the security desks.

Screw them.

He’s got his own path to walk now, and if he has to do it without Nasir and Agron…

Well…

So be it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's the last chapter, in Nasir's PoV :D That went a lot quicker than I thought it would :) 
> 
> I'm not ruling out the possibility I might revisit this universe in the future, as there are many of the stories within it that I have yet to explore, but for now, I will lay it to rest.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who read it and left kudos and comments! I love you all!
> 
> Love, Annaelle
> 
> PS Thank you to my tireless beta, Juulna, for bearing with me while I was writing this, even though this is not even remotely her fandom :D

**PART II - NASIR**

**March 2014  
Agron Müller  & Nasir Labaton’s apartment, Antwerp, Belgium**

“I don’t know what to do, Nasir,” Pietros whines, leaning back onto the armrest of Nasir’s couch, the red wine in his glass sloshing dangerously close to the rim. “Do I tell Duro?”

Nasir sighs, briefly wondering whatever deity he had pissed off in a previous life to be landed with Agron and Duro and all the drama that comes with them as his closest family, and reaches out to pat Pietros’ thigh lightly. “Well, I don’t think you can just _not_ tell him. This is your soulmate we’re talking about. It’s not just going to go away. Besides, I thought he knew?”

“He does,” Pietros insists, drawing his lower lip between his teeth. “About that one night when he was still in Germany. I haven’t told him Barca’s back in town yet.”

He whines desperately when Nasir groans and swats at Nasir’s arm to shut him up. “I _know_ , I know,” he laments dramatically. “It’s just… I don’t know _how_ to tell him. Things have been really good between us, and I don’t want to risk screwing that up.”

Nasir just shakes his head, drinking deeply from his glass of wine before he speaks again.

Duro and Pietros have a relationship that Nasir has to admit he doesn’t fully understand. He knows they’d begun dating around the time of their high school graduation, but that things had stood _so_ complicated and unsure with Duro spending the year in Germany, neither Duro nor Pietros had really known how to define their relationship.

He knows that, about three months after Duro had left for Germany, Pietros had run into his soulmate again. He knows that the man had looked for Pietros, to apologize for simply tossing him aside, and to explain _why_ he had done it. The man, Barca, apparently, was engaged to his then-fiancé, now-husband, when he’d met Pietros, and meeting his soulmate had thrown them both for a loop.

Barca had only sought out Pietros to explain his reasons for not wanting to get to know him.

Nasir still isn’t really sure how meeting for coffee and apologies led to screwing each other’s brains out in Barca’s hotel room, but it had.

Pietros claimed that he regretted it the second he woke up in Barca’s bed, but Nasir had spent _years_ with his own soulmate, had slept with Agron and exactly one other person, and he knew, just as well as Pietros did, that there was something about the connection with a soulmate that made it almost impossible to regret _any_ time spent together.

Of course, Nasir has also never been in love with anyone but Agron, so there was that.

“Look,” Nasir sighs, leaning over to put his wine glass on the coffee table before turning to look at his friend. “Duro loves you. He forgave you for sleeping with Barca years ago. You _live_ together. And don’t think I don’t know about the ring in your sock drawer. It’s not your fault that Barca and Auctus decided to move here, but Duro _should_ know. Especially if you and Barca are going to stay in touch this time.” 

Pietros blushes furiously at the mention of the—supposedly secret—engagement ring, which just makes Nasir grin and rub his finger over his own engagement ring, but eventually nods in agreement. “I know,” he sighs in resignation. “I just… I don’t want him to be jealous.”

Nasir snorts, shaking his head in amusement. “Please,” he chuckles. “Müller men get ridiculously jealous for no reason. Just look of how jealous Agron gets when I just _talk_ to Castus. If you really plan on giving him that ring, you better get used to it.”

Pietros raises a single eyebrow at him, and Nasir frowns. “What?”

“You know Agron’s only jealous because you actually _did_ sleep with Castus, right?”

Nasir waves his hand dismissively. “And Agron slept with Donar, but I don’t hold that against the man, either.” Nasir knows it won’t do any good to try to explain why he and Agron had decided to try to sleep with at least _one_ other person before they committed to each other for the rest of their lives.

No one seemed to understand the need to _know_ , beyond some cosmic tattoo on their skin.

Pietros grins and knocks his foot against Nasir’s leg. “Yeah, but Donar’s not in love with Agron.”

Nasir makes a face, but he can feel the heat burn in his cheeks. He knows of Castus’ feelings for him _now_ —he hadn’t when he’d asked the man to sleep with him. He’d known Castus thought he was attractive—he would have needed to be blind, deaf, _and_ stupid to not notice that—but he hadn’t actually thought there was more to Castus’ feelings until he confessed them to him.

 _After_ they’d had sex.

It had been awkward, to say the least, when Nasir once again had to reiterate that he had no intention of ever leaving Agron for someone else, and that what he’d been after had essentially been a one night stand with Agron’s knowledge and permission.

“Castus isn’t in love with me,” he denies, though he caves pretty quickly beneath Pietros’ incredulous look. “ _Anymore_! He’s got that sailor guy now… What’s his name—Heracleo?”

Pietros just chuckles and shakes his head, before falling silent, picking at lint on his jeans listlessly.

Nasir groans, drawing his thoughts back to the subject at hand. “Look, Duro is not going to go ballistic. That is Agron’s forte. And I’m sure he’d rather find out from you than from someone else.” At that, Pietros nods, but Nasir continues anyway. “Besides… Do you love Duro?”

“Of course I do!” Pietros exclaims indignantly, glaring at Nasir for even suggesting that he might not.

“Do you want to leave him to figure out your shit with Barca?”

“What? No!”

Nasir smiles, knocking their legs together where they meet, in the middle of the couch. “Then there’s nothing to worry about. You’re in love with Duro and Barca’s in love with his husband.”

“Yeah,” Pietros sighs, though he still doesn’t sound quite convinced. “I guess.”

Before Nasir can say anything else, Pietros picks up the remote control again and flicks through the channels until he’s found the one he’s looking for. “I’ll figure it out,” he says, taking another sip from his wine as he keeps his eyes on the television. “Can we just watch Castle now? I read something about this episode having ninjas—should be fun.”

“Yeah, sure,” Nasir chuckles, reaching out to pull the quilt on the back of the couch over their legs before retrieving his own glass of wine from the coffee table.

The episode is sufficiently entertaining to keep Nasir’s mind off of Pietros’ dilemma, even though he’s already seen it, but during a commercial break, when Pietros goes to root through Agron and Nasir’s supply cupboard to see if they have any kind of snacks left, he can’t _stop_ thinking about it.

Though he and Agron had not been on friendly terms with Duro at the time—which had been, admittedly, Nasir’s fault for poorly managing their schedule and mixing up the day they were supposed to see Duro off to the airport—Agron had still been the first person Duro called when he’d found out that Pietros had cheated on him.

It had been the kick in the bum the brothers had needed to patch up their relationship, and Agron had spent nearly two weeks in München with Duro before Nasir had managed to convince an equally distraught Pietros to fly down to München and fight for his relationship.

It had been a difficult, tense time for all of them.

Duro had been incredibly resentful towards all soulmate couples that he knew—which had, luckily, only been Agron and him, Crixus and Naevia and Spartacus and Sura—and it had taken him a long time to put that resentment aside and realise that soulmates didn’t always have to end up together.

That Pietros knowing his soulmate didn’t mean Duro was going to lose Pietros.

The tension had remained until Duro returned to Belgium to finish his degree in Computer Linguistics, though. He can’t help but be a little fearful that the tension between them and Duro might run high again if Pietros keeps Barca’s return from him.

“You okay?” Pietros asks when he returns, a bag of chips in one hand and an apple in his other. He plops down on the couch and tosses the apple towards Nasir, who catches it gratefully. He prefers eating fruit and other healthier food instead of sugary snacks and junk food most of the time, unlike Agron and Duro, who only manage to keep their—admittedly spectacular, in Agron’s case—abs and physique by spending more than a few hours a week working out. 

The perks of owning a gym, Nasir supposes.

“Yeah,” Nasir nods unconvincingly. “Little tired. Had three papers to finish yesterday, and I didn’t go to bed until like two AM.” The sad part is that that isn’t even a lie. He rubs his fingers over his forehead and sighs. “I haven’t seen Agron yet today. He had an early shift at the gym today, so he was asleep when I went to bed last night and gone by the time I woke up this morning.”

Pietros hums sympathetically, arranging the blanket over their legs again as he sits. “Take a nap then. You’ve seen this episode anyway. I’ll be sure to wake you up before I leave, okay?”

Nasir hums, but frowns a little. “But I haven’t seen you in a week.”

Pietros snorts and pokes his toe against Nasir’s calf. “You’re going to see me plenty, you goof. I’m dating your brother-in-law, and Duro and Agron practically live in each other’s pockets these days.”

Nasir giggles a little at that—only because it is _so_ true—but scoots down a little and snuggles into the pillow before closing his eyes. Duro and Agron will be coming back from the gym in a few hours, and Duro and Pietros will likely stay for dinner anyway.

They can talk more then.

He is asleep before the thought has even really finished forming.

.

.

.

**That evening**

A final, loud moan rips itself from Nasir’s throat and his back arches, and he swears that only Agron’s hands—hot, tight vices upon his hips—keep him on this earth. His entire body trembles in the aftermath of his orgasm and he sways dangerously, threatening to tip sideways from his position straddling Agron’s lap until Agron sits up again, steadying him as he trails his hand up from Nasir’s tailbone until he can tangle his fingers in Nasir’s hair and tug him closer for a soft, lazy kiss.

Nasir hums contently into the kiss and drapes his arms around Agron’s shoulders, pressing his entire body more firmly into Agron’s, lost in the feel of their skin sliding together, warm and slick with sweat and their release, their bodies loose-limbed and relaxed.

“I missed you,” he breathes against Agron’s lips, barely allowing himself the luxury of pulling away to actually _say_ the words. “Let’s not go an entire week without spending time alone together again.”

Agron growls a little in response and his fingers tighten in Nasir’s hair. “Agreed,” he replies roughly, before leaning back in and taking Nasir’s lips in a breathtaking kiss again. He sinks into it, relishing in his good fortune that Duro and Pietros had already had plans for the evening and had left Agron and Nasir to their own devices almost immediately after Agron and Duro returned from the gym.

Nasir had wasted no time in jumping his fiancé as soon as the other couple had left.

He grins against Agron’s lips.

Agron had been _very_ willing to oblige and spend the rest of their night in bed.

When the kiss breaks, Nasir breathes deeply, pushing lightly against Agron’s shoulders until the taller man allows him to push him onto his back on their sweat-soaked sheets, barely suppressing a shiver as Agron’s fingertips trail down his back until they come to rest upon Nasir’s hips again.

He looks down at Agron, whose hair is stuck up in irregular spikes, skin shiny with sweat and stomach splattered with release, and Nasir _swears_ he has never looked more enticing.

Sometimes, he cannot believe he gets to keep this man forever.

He presses his hands against Agron’s chest and smiles when the light catches on the small stone in his engagement ring, drawing both of their eyes to it. Agron grins, wide and dimpled, lifting Nasir’s hand to his lips to press a kiss to his knuckles, something warm and fuzzy curling in the pit of Nasir’s stomach as he does. “I cannot wait to marry you,” Agron says softly, smiling that small half-smile he reserves only for Nasir.

“Soon,” Nasir replies, settling his hand on the back of Agron’s neck, fingers toying with the soft hair there, knowing it makes Agron _melt_.

He leans down and presses his lips to the dark mark he left just beneath Agron’s jaw, mouthing at it wetly until Agron loses patience and drags him up with a hand in his hair, pressing heated kisses to his love’s lips. Nasir mewls contentedly against Agron’s lips and loosens his muscles, shifting until he is sprawled across Agron, sighing and tucking his head beneath Agron’s chin when the kiss breaks.

“There is so much we still have to do, though,” he remarks with distinct reluctance, trailing his hand down Agron’s chest in a soothing, lingering touch. “Find a venue, send out invitations… Your father has already said he will not attend because of _other_ engagements though.”

“So fuck him,” Agron replies in equally soft tones, though there is a harsh undertone to his words. “It is _our_ day, and I don’t care whether he will finally take the role of a good father or not.” Nasir sighs but remains silent, drawing himself up a little so he can look at Agron, placing elbows on either side of Agron’s head to keep himself steady.

There is a sad resignation to Agron’s words, born of a sad truth that they have all had to face shortly after Agron and Duro’s mother had passed away.

Anselm Müller was a man of many talents, but being a loving father to his sons after his wife died was not one of them. He had basically left Agron to take care of Duro and Nasir, diving into his work with a gusto that Nasir both admired and despised.

The man was rarely ever in Belgium anymore as it was.

He supposed it was too much to ask for him to show up for his own son’s wedding. The mad _had_ written them a blank check when they had told him of their engagement, insisting on paying for everything, even if he wouldn’t be there.

Nasir couldn’t figure out whether the man disapproved of their relationship or not, but it seemed that he had accepted they were going to get married anyway.

That was, at least, if not a little depressing, something.

“Tell me something good,” Nasir finally says, in an obvious ploy to change the subject, humming contently when Agron reaches up and slips his fingers through his hair. “How is the gym doing?”

A wry smile twists Agron’s lips, but he allows the change of subject and Nasir slumps down, resting his head on Agron’s chest again. “It’s doing well,” he admits softly, dragging his fingers through Nasir’s tangled hair, carefully separating each lock before placing it down on Nasir’s back. “Laeta said we’ve got a ten percent increase in customer retention over last quarter.”

“Good,” Nasir hums happily, tilting his head into Agron’s touch when his fiancé presses his lips to his forehead. “So you can afford to give me a big, expensive wedding?”

Agron laughs, loudly and boisterously, and Nasir grins, pressing his smile into the skin over Agron’s collarbone. “I can afford to give you whatever you want,” he promises, dragging his fingers down Nasir’s back in a steady, soothing rhythm that nearly causes Nasir to drift off.

“Does a big wedding mean you’re going to wear a big white dress?” Agron asks suddenly, and Nasir doesn’t even have to look at him to know he’s smirking.

“Only if you’re good,” Nasir purrs, dragging his fingers down Agron’s side until he finds the little dip just above his hip and digs his fingers in. Agron _squeals_ , writhing beneath him with laughter, and Nasir _knows_ Agron could easily overpower him and retaliate, but he _loves_ that he doesn’t.

“You win, you win,” Agron cries, shaking with laughter even as Nasir pulls himself from Agron’s arms and into a seated position across his fiancé’s lap. “Have mercy on an old man.”

“You’re twenty-four, you drama queen,” Nasir scoffs, but he relents and draws his hands back.

Agron laughs, pulling himself up into a seated position as well, slipping his hands around Nasir’s waist and looking up at him with a look of such fondness and love that it causes Nasir’s heart to stutter within his chest even as he moves to wrap his arms around Agron’s neck.

“So old,” Nasir teases, grinning until Agron draws him closer for a soft, lazy kiss, licking his way into Nasir’s mouth, teasing his tongue over the roof of Nasir’s mouth before pulling away slowly, deliberately dragging his teeth over Nasir’s bottom lip, causing goosebumps to spring up across his entire body. He never tires of this—lying in bed with Agron, kissing lazily and exploring the familiar planes of each other’s bodies.

“I love you,” Nasir whispers softly against Agron’s lips, a sound that morphs into giggles when Agron only tightens the embrace, rolling them so he once again presses Nasir onto the bed. Nasir’s laughter reverberates through his chest, even as his fingers knot in his hair and tug playfully.

“I love you more,” Agron murmurs against his skin, tongue flicking out to lap at sensitive nipple before sucking the nub into his mouth. A groan falls from Nasir’s lips and he feels his cock twitch against Agron’s stomach, and the younger man barely resists the urge to moan as Agron carefully scrapes his teeth against Nasir’s abused skin.

“Agron,” Nasir moans, pulling on his hair in warning. “No marks above my collar, darling. I have tutoring sessions to run tomorrow.”

He looks down into lust-darkened eyes and draws his bottom lip between his teeth to cover his smirk as Agron props his chin up on Nasir’s hip. “Such a buzzkill,” Agron grins, teasingly dragging his fingers down—Nasir’s breath catches in his throat. “Are you going to keep complaining?”  

“Only if you stop now,” Nasir grins, baring his teeth in a lecherous grin.

Agron returns the grin and chuckles, leaning into the caress when Nasir slips one hand free from his hair to cup his cheek. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Agron snickers, pressing a chaste kiss to Nasir’s jutting hipbone before curling his fingers around Nasir’s half-hard cock. “Let me hear you, _sweetheart_.”

Nasir’s breath catches again, and he has enough trouble remembering _language_ —he has too little control over himself to actually focus on keeping quiet, too.

“Agron,” he moans, tangling his fingers in his fiancé’s hair. “ _Fuck_. Don’t stop.”

He doesn’t. 

.

.

.

**May 2014  
University of Antwerp library, Antwerp, Belgium**

“I hate life and everything.”

Nasir raises one eyebrow as he looks up from his notes and thesis outline to find his future brother-in-law slumped on the seat across from his own, Duro’s leather work bag dumped on top of his carefully organized notes on Roman common law and marriage rites.

“Thesis drama or Pietros drama?” he asks, putting down his pen and highlighter and rubbing his eyes tiredly before looking up at Duro again.

Duro groans incoherently and buries his face in his arms, completely oblivious to the disgruntled looks from other students in the library. “Pietros wants us to have dinner with Barca and Auctus,” he mumbles, voice muffled by his arms. “And I’m way too close to missing my thesis deadline, which means I’ll have to turn it in in August instead and I don’t _want_ to.”

Nasir sighs before stretching, and then grabs his phone from the corner of the table. He closes his laptop and covers it with papers, so it’s not so obvious there is something expensive hiding beneath them. The girl sitting beside him shoots him a sympathetic smile and nods towards the door.

“Go ahead. I’ll keep an eye out for your stuff.”

He nods in gratitude and turns back to his not-quite brother-in-law. “Let’s go get a drink and a sandwich,” he tells Duro, dragging his own backpack out from under the table.

He drags a groaning, moaning Duro out from the library and onto the quad, ignoring the lucky bastards who seem to have no pressing scholarly concerns like thesis deadlines or upcoming exams. Duro lets Nasir manhandle him into the little sandwich shop across the street and plops down in a chair while Nasir orders two sandwiches with cheese and ham with all the fixings, and two coffees.

He shoots a look at Duro over his shoulder and sighs.

He doesn’t really know _how_ to handle the whole situation with Duro and Pietros and Barca, and neither does anyone else in their group of friends. He’d talked about it just the day before, with Naevia and Mira while Spartacus, Agron, and Crixus went to get them all pizza.

Mira was the only one out of all of them who knew what it was like dating someone who had already met their soulmate, but her situation with Spartacus was _lightyears_ away from Duro and Pietros’.

After Sura had been killed in a mugging—only eight months after she and Spartacus had met and begun dating—Spartacus had refused to even look at another woman for _years_ , even though they all knew his feelings for Mira went far beyond friendship.

He is drawn from his thoughts by the proprietor handing him a tray with his order.

“So,” he begins when he sits down across from Duro and pushes the plate with the other man’s sandwich towards him. “Eat. And tell me what happened.”

Duro huffs, but does as Nasir’s told him and digs into the food—like Nasir knew he would. Duro has always had a tendency to forget to eat when he is stressed. He doesn’t even want to think about how long it’s been since Duro sat down and reminded himself to eat.

“Did Pietros tell you they’ve been meeting for coffee a few times a week?” Duro finally says, looking up at Nasir with an expression of such vulnerability it makes Nasir’s heart clench painfully.

“Yeah,” he admits, nose wrinkling a little as he recalls the way Pietros had flitted about the apartment nervously half an hour before he was due to meet up with Barca for the first time. “Yeah, he told me.” Duro slumps a little further as Nasir replies, chewing his lower lip as he pokes at his food listlessly.

“He can’t stop talking about him,” Duro says softly, his words barely above a whisper. “Every time, when he comes home, it’s ‘Barca said this’ or ‘he did that’ and…” He winces and rubs his hand over his thigh, right above where Nasir knows Duro’s own soulmark is located. “I think he’s falling in love with him.”  When he looks up at Nasir again, there’re tears brimming in his eyes, and Nasir _hates_ that there’s nothing he can do but be there and _listen_.

“Duro,” he says softly, but Duro interrupts him, waving his hand impatiently.

“I know, okay? I know it sounds paranoid, and I’ve talked to Pietros and he said nothing’s happening there, but _fuck_ —” Duro rubs his hands through his disheveled curls and sighs. “I know what Pietros is like when he’s in love. Even if _he_ can’t see it, _I_ can.” Nasir reaches out, aching to offer Duro some kind of comfort, and curls his fingers around Duro’s wrist.

“And now he wants to have dinner with us and Barca and his husband tonight to prove there’s nothing going on,” Duro sighs, tapping his fingers against Nasir’s wrist in gratitude before pulling his hand free to pick up his coffee. “I just… I don’t know what to do anymore.”

Nasir doesn’t say anything for a long moment, carefully contemplating what to say to soothe Duro’s fears—because while he agrees that Pietros is getting a little too caught up in Barca, he knows that Pietros is still head over heels in love with Duro, and he doesn’t see that changing anytime soon.

He also knows that Duro has yet to meet Barca himself.

It is probably much scarier to only know the man from stories that Pietros tells, to know that the only assurances he has concerning Barca’s intentions are those that Pietros has relayed.

“Could it hurt?” Nasir asks cautiously, setting down his own coffee as he leans his elbows on the table. “Meeting Barca? And his husband? I mean…” he waves off Duro’s attempt at interruption, patting the man’s arm soothingly before continuing. “You’re probably imagining all kinds of things now, but you’ve never even spoken to Barca yourself. You’ve never seen him and Pietros interact, you’ve never seen him with his husband. If he wanted Pietros, don’t you think he would have been divorced by now?”

“I guess,” Duro mumbles, biting into his sandwich to save himself from having to reply further, Nasir’s sure.

“Just think about it,” he implores, picking up his own neglected sandwich. “I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think it is.”  

They fall silent for a while, each munching on their own food, mulling over their own thoughts, before Duro breaks the silence, his voice uncharacteristically small.

“What if I lose him, Nasir?”

The hint of despair in Duro’s voice makes Nasir’s heart ache, and he reaches out to grasp Duro’s hands in his before any conscious thought has made its way through his mind. “You’d hurt,” he says frankly, keeping his eyes on Duro’s as he squeezes his fingers around his. “And it would suck, probably for a while. And then you’d get back up, and you’d move on and fall in love again. Maybe you’d even meet your own soulmate. But that won’t happen, okay? Pietros loves _you_.”

Duro is shaking his head, but he isn’t pulling away from Nasir and his fingers dig into Nasir’s skin. “I don’t _want_ anyone else,” he insists, biting his lower lip before continuing. “I just… What if he _does_? He—they’ve… They’ve already slept together. Doesn’t that mean they’ve sealed their soulbond? I mean, that’s… That’s why you and Agron waited, right?”  

Nasir shakes his head, drawing his hands back to push his hair back from his eyes. “I mean, yes, it is why _we_ waited, but Agron and I…” He bites his lip, frown rippling across his forehead as he attempts to find the words to explain soulmate connections beyond the basics everyone seems to know and understand. “We have an unusually strong bond. Probably because we met when we were so young, and the bond developed over years.”

“So?” Duro shrugs, obviously confused by Nasir’s attempt at an explanation.

“ _So_ ,” Nasir sighs, shrugging helplessly. “Pietros and Barca probably have a connection that is unlike the one Agron and I have. If it _was_ like ours…” He bites his lip and shakes his head. “You’d have been single two years ago, Duro. Barca never would have left, Pietros never would’ve chosen you.”

Something crumples in Duro’s expression, fear and relief clearly warring for dominance. “I bought a ring,” he blurts after a short silence, fiddling nervously before looking up at Nasir with an oddly bashful expression. “Back in January. I was going to ask him, but then Barca came back, and I—”

“Duro,” Nasir gasps, reaching out to grasp Duro’s arm. “Are you serious?”

Duro smiles shyly, a smile so like Agron’s it takes Nasir’s breath away for a moment, and nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I just… I’m scared he’ll say no.”

“He’ll say yes,” Nasir blurts, his thoughts drifting towards the ring Pietros has had hidden inside his sock drawer for the past year, and the way he keeps thinking up elaborate schemes to ask Duro to marry him before dismissing them for not being _right_. “When you ask him. He’ll say yes, Duro.”

Duro smiles tightly, fidgeting a little before he blurts, “Will you and Agron come to the dinner, too?”

The question catches Nasir off-guard, and he stares at Duro, dumbfounded, for a long few seconds. “What?” he finally manages, frowning confusedly. “I—why would we—Duro…”

“Look, I don’t want to do this by myself,” Duro pleads, leaning across the table to grasp at Nasir’s forearm. “I just really want someone there who’s on _my_ side.” His eyes are wide and pleading and Nasir _swears_ Agron taught him how to do that, because Nasir is incapable of saying ‘no’ to that face.

“Come on, man,” Nasir whines. “Would Pietros even be okay with me and Agron showing up?”

“Of course he would!” Duro exclaims, dimpling at Nasir. “Agron is my brother, you’re his best friend! Why would he mind?” Nasir smiles tightly, but nods—it is _true_ , after all. After the whole fiasco with the airport and Duro leaving and refusing to speak to either of them for over two months, Nasir and Pietros had grown closer, their friendship deepening until Pietros was the first person Nasir wanted to call when something happened with Agron and vice versa.

He and Duro haven’t been best friends in a long time, but he misses that easy closeness.

“Fine,” he sighs, waving his hands when Duro cheers and jumps up, throwing his arms around Nasir as he exclaims his gratitude. “Hang on, hang on, I have to talk to Agron first, I don’t know what he’s going to say—”

 “I don’t care,” Duro crows happily, drawing back from Nasir and bouncing back to his own seat. “Thank you. Seriously, thank you. Pietros won’t mind, promise—”

Before either of them can say more, Duro’s phone rings, blaring “Talk dirty to me” so loudly it startles them both. “Shit,” Duro curses, fumbling to pull his phone from his pocket as the other students in the small café turn to look at them. “Speak of the devil,” Duro chuckles, wiggling his phone at Nasir so he can see the caller ID—a picture of Pietros in the middle of eating a giant slice of pizza.

“Don’t worry about it,” Nasir smiles tightly, “I should get back to my thesis anyway. And I need to call Agron. Let me know what time you’ll expect us tonight, yeah?”

Duro nods distractedly, grabbing his half-eaten sandwich as he slings his bag over his shoulder before he taps his phone to answer Pietros’ call. Nasir can just barely hear him greet Pietros before he’s out the door, narrowly avoiding running into a lamppost as he does.

“Idiot,” Nasir chuckles fondly, collecting his own things at a more sedate pace, offering a small wave towards Chadara, who is peeking out of the kitchen door, before stepping outside himself.

He, admittedly, has absolutely no desire to go back inside to finish his thesis outline, but he knows he will have to, if he wants to stick to schedule—damned thing is due in a few weeks. With a reluctant sigh, he crosses the street and walks onto the quad, pulling his phone from his pocket to call Agron, before he forgets to do it altogether.

“Hey hot stuff,” Agron says as he answers his phone on the first ring, and Nasir can feel a smile spreading across his lips and his entire body relaxing at the mere sound of Agron’s voice.

“Hey,” he replies softly, clutching his phone to his ear. “So… I may have gotten us into something…”

.

.

.

**That evening  
Antwerp, Belgium**

Nasir’s fingers are tangled with Agron’s as they walk, their hands swinging between them comfortably.

They’ve been walking for a bit, Agron chatting lightly about something Crixus did at the gym—and though he calls the man a ‘fucking French bastard’ on a daily basis, Nasir _knows_ they’re friends—and the way Naevia had shown up a guy who tried to teach her how to lift weights and Donar nearly falling off a bench laughing so hard, when Nasir’s thoughts drift to his earlier conversation with Duro.

He’d told Duro Barca and Pietros had a bond that was completely unlike the one he shared with Agron—and it _is_ , he’s sure, because he can barely stand the thought of letting Agron out of his sight for a day—but the more he thinks about it, the more similarities he finds.

They had, albeit extremely briefly, let each other go too, hadn’t they?

It had lasted no longer than a single night, but it was a night they’d spent with someone other than each other. While Nasir had been with Castus, Agron had been with Donar, and Nasir isn’t sure how to explain why his eighteen-year-old self had insisted they figure out what it was like to be with someone else anymore.

He remembers the feeling—a burning, consuming curiosity—but he doubts he’d be able to put it into words anymore.

He looks up at his fiancé and remembers the fights they’d had afterwards, the time Agron had punched Castus so hard he needed to go to the emergency room, the times his fiancé had let his temper and jealous streak get the best of him and had nearly driven Nasir to madness with his absolute refusal to listen to any sort of sense, and he wonders…

Did he cause all of that?

Nasir knows Agron had never really liked Castus, and had only ever tolerated his presence because Nasir considered him a friend. That discomfort around the man had only increased after he’d slept with him, even though Nasir had gone out of his way to avoid Castus for a while.

“Agron,” he says, words falling from his lips before he has the chance to stop them, interrupting the taller man in the middle of a story about Mira and Leata arguing about something or the other. “Can I ask you something?”

They slow to a stop, and Nasir can read the confused expression on his fiancé’s face easily, continuing before the other man can say anything, eyes firmly upon the tips of his sneakers.

“When we… with Castus and Donar… Did I—did I push you into that?”

“Nasir,” Agron protests, pressing fingers to the younger man’s jaw to tilt it upward. “No. Of course you didn’t. You didn’t _make_ me do anything. I chose to sleep with Donar. I don’t blame you for your curiosity—I shared in it.”

“But it wasn’t something you needed, was it?” Nasir glances up at Agron from beneath lashes, eyes large and wet with unshed tears. “Wasn’t I the one who suggested it? You tried to talk me out of it, and I kept pushing, I’m the one who insisted we try at least once.”

Agron smiles sadly and reaches out to join their hands, and Nasir is momentarily distracted by the sharp contrast in their skin tone. “You were honest with me.” Agron’s voice draws Nasir’s eyes back up to his green ones, and his breath catches in his throat at Agron’s earnest expression. “You told me what you needed, Nasir. You were right. It was an experience we both needed. Where is this coming from? Did someone say something?”

“No,” Nasir shakes his head, sighing heavily. “No, it’s just… I was talking to Duro and Pietros and I—”

Agron shakes his head, interrupting him as he draws Nasir’s hand up to his mouth and presses lips to knuckles. “It doesn’t matter if no one else understands, _schatzi_. You and I understand.”

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better,” Nasir accuses, though there is a measure of playfulness beneath his words that had been absent before. Agron’s words hit their intended mark, and Nasir _does_ feel better about the whole thing.

Agron laughs, pulling Nasir closer and sliding his arms around the smaller man’s waist. “Maybe,” he grins, leaning in to press hot, wet kiss to Nasir’s lips, dragging his teeth over his bottom lip. “But that doesn’t make it any less true. I don’t regret Donar, and I know you don’t regret Castus.” His top lip draws up into a sneer at the mention of the man and he growls, “Even though _I_ might.”

Nasir grins, heart squeezing as he looks up at his great lumbering oaf of a fiancé, and all he can do is wrap his arms around Agron’s shoulders and draw him closer for kisses. He whines quietly, involuntarily, when Agron breaks their kiss, leaning up onto his toes to press their foreheads together.

“Come,” Agron says softly. “They’re waiting for us.”

Nasir wishes he could just refuse, and turn around to head back home, because he feels even less like sitting through what will likely be an immensely awkward dinner with Duro, Pietros, Pietros’ soulmate and Pietros’ soulmate’s husband, but he had made a promise.

Duro is counting on them.

He let Duro down once, and he refuses to do so again.

“Fine,” he sighs, pressing one last chaste kiss to Agron’s lips before leaning back and heading for the apartment building. He keeps his fingers entwined with Agron’s, using his grip on the taller man’s hand to drag him along.

The elevator ride up to the fourteenth floor is mostly silent, and Nasir leans against Agron contently, humming in satisfaction when his fiancé presses his lips to his forehead.

They step out into the hallway when the lift doors open, and Nasir is surprised to find Duro and Pietros’ door standing wide open—they do not live in a dangerous neighborhood and they _were_ expecting them, but to leave the door open seems… out of character. Agron, evidently, feels the same way, because he stalks forward and stomps inside, shouting, “Duro, you fucking shit! Why is your front door wide open?”

Nasir follows, a feeling of dread coiling deep in the pit of his stomach, and closes the door behind him. The sight that awaits him in the living room is quite startling, and he honestly doesn’t know what to make of it.

Pietros stands by the window, hand slack against the door handle for the balcony door, eyes wide with unbridled _shock_ , lips parted as he stares at Duro, who seems equally frozen in shock, standing across from a tall, dark haired man who can only be Barca, and a shorter, muscled man with dirty blonde hair—and a _really_ great ass, Nasir notes with some surprise—who must be Barca’s husband.

“Duro, what is going on?”

Agron’s voice is no softer, nor kinder, now that he has his little brother in his line of sight, and hearing his older brother’s voice seems to snap Duro from his shock.  

“Er… er hat meiner Wörter gesagt,” Duro whispers, wonder and fear and confusion all evident in his tone, and it takes a moment for the words to register—

Oh.

Nasir’s jaw drops, and his gaze slides back to the man standing beside Barca with an utterly bemused expression on his face.

“He said my words,” Duro repeats, slightly more hysterical this time, clutching at Agron’s forearm when the other man steps close enough.

“Who did?” Agron demands, confusion still thick within his voice.

“I did,” the shorter man chokes, and for the first time, Nasir notices how tightly the blonde is gripping Barca’s hand.

Well.

This’ll be interesting.

.

.

.

**September 2014  
University of Antwerp, Antwerp, Belgium**

Nasir stands with a large smile, clapping and cheering just as loudly as Agron and the rest of their group of friends, as Duro walks up to the dean and accepts his diploma, only stumbling over his own feet twice on his way back to his chair after he’d shaken the man’s hand. It had not been an easy road for Duro and, though he managed to complete his Bachelor’s with only two months’ delay, he had had to retake exams every year in August—this year had been no different.

This year he had had something different though, Nasir muses, not-so-subtly glancing to his right, where Barca, Pietros and Auctus sit, eyes all riveted on Duro’s back while they wait for the dean to finish his parting speech.

Pietros’ fingers are entangled with Barca’s, their hands laying entwined on Pietros’ lap as he leans against Auctus, who has his arm draped over the back of Pietros’ chair, fingertips stretching just far enough to be able to brush against the back of Barca’s shirt. Nasir has very little knowledge of what goes on behind closed doors with those four, but he knows that Duro had called their university and begged off a later date to turn in his thesis because he’d met his soulmate.

The school had policies in place for such events, thankfully, and had allowed Duro to turn in his thesis in August instead, while he tried to figure out how his relationship with Pietros would work now that they’d both met their soulmates—who just happened to be married to each other.

Nasir shakes his head with a soft smile.

It had certainly been a tumultuous few months since that first meeting.

He leans into Agron with a soft sigh and glances down at his ring finger, where his engagement ring glitters in the sunlight, and smiles. He cannot wait until he gets to add the wedding ring he and Agron had picked out a few weeks ago to his finger. Their wedding date is drawing closer every day, and Nasir still gets a fluttery, nervous feeling in his stomach, a mix of anticipation and nerves, when he thinks about it. They have their suits already picked out and the venue has been booked, their guests have been invited, and they have both chosen their best men—Duro and Pietros, of course.

He can’t wait to finally be married to Agron.

Ha glances further down the row, where Naevia and Crixus sit, fingers tangled together and Naevia’s ankle hooked over Crixus’ as she leans into him, lightly twisting with the wedding ring on his ring finger. Nasir _would_ be bitter about those two beating him and Agron down the aisle, but after all they had gone through to be able to be together, he can’t find it in himself to be jealous.

Movement a little further down the row draws his attention, and he stifles a laugh at the sight of Mira, slumped onto Spartacus’ shoulder, her high-heeled shoes long since discarded as she digs her toes into the grass, taking full advantage of the fact that the ceremony is taking place outside and sprawling out as best as she can so each of her limbs catch the sunlight.

His breath catches and he looks away from Mira when Agron elbows him in the ribs, nodding up towards the small stage, where Duro now stands, visibly nervous, hands trembling as he takes the microphone from the dean.

Nasir draws his lower lip between his teeth, glancing at Agron in confusion.

This had not been a part of the plan—had it?

“Uhm,” Duro begins—ever so eloquent—scratching at the back of his neck awkwardly before he settles, eyes falling upon their group. “Hi everyone,” he continues, his voice sounding slightly steadier than before. “I’m sorry for interrupting the planned events. I promise it won’t take very long, I just… I wanted to share this with everyone.”

Nasir frowns in confusion, and he can tell Agron is slightly confused as well, though Nasir can feel a niggling suspicion in the back of his mind. His gaze darts to where Pietros, Auctus, and Barca have straightened slightly—no longer resembling a giant pile of limbs occupying three seats—with eyes all fixed on Duro as he stands before the crowd.

Pietros just looks confused, eyebrows pinching together as he looks at his boyfriend, but Barca is grinning, eyes flitting between Duro and Pietros and his husband, while Auctus just looks positively amused by the whole thing.

Nasir doesn’t know what to make of it.

“So,” Duro stutters, cheeks flaming red. “Most of you know me, since… You know, we’ve been sharing classes for the past two and a half years.” He rolls his eyes, and there’s a smattering of laughter amongst the front row of students, and Nasir can’t help the grin that spreads across his lips.

Duro is _not_ a public speaker.

He barely likes to talk in front of their entire group of friends—but he’s doing it now, and he’s doing _so well_ , and Nasir is pretty sure he knows where this is going.

“For those of you that know me,” Duro continues, fidgeting restlessly with the microphone. “You all know I have a really awesome boyfriend—”

He is interrupted by their friends cheering and clapping, and Nasir turns to see Pietros hide his face in his hands, blushing furiously as Barca pats his shoulder and Auctus laughs at him. Duro grins, too, and Nasir can see him relax a fraction more, shoulder slumping a little with relief as he adds, “Yeah, that’s him right there—”

People turn to look, and though Pietros is still blushing terribly, he sits up and gives those that are watching a shy wave before ducking back into the relative safety of Barca’s arms.

“I just want to thank him,” Duro says softly, drawing people’s attention back to him. “We’ve had a rough go at it… He met his soulmate, I met mine—”

Another cheer interrupts him and Duro sighs, rolling his eyes in a very put-upon manner, but Nasir knows he’s smiling as he says, “ _Yes_ , Auctus, you are also awesome, can I go on now?” Auctus guffaws and leans back in his seat, tossing an arm around Pietros before gesturing his hand towards Duro lazily, smirking devilishly at the younger man.

“Oh, don’t let me stop you, _agápi mou._ Please, continue.”

“Pietros…” The younger man looks up when Duro says his name, eyes glittering and his lower lip caught between his teeth. Duro grins at the sight before he murmurs, “I love you. I’ve been in love with you for so long it feels like I’ve always been in love with you. And… Even though we hit some pretty rough patches, like meeting our fucking soulmates, and trying to figure out _that_ mess, somehow we always seem to find our way back to each other.”

Nasir feels tears burning in his eyes and he can’t even imagine what Pietros must feel like—though he remembers all too well how loved and special and stunned he had felt when Agron proposed—the first three times anyway—when Duro sinks down on one knee, and pulls a ring from his pocket.

Pietros’ gasp is loud, and Nasir can hear Auctus laughing quietly even as he gives Pietros a little push to get him to his feet, unsteadily heading to where Duro is waiting for him.

“I want to keep finding my way back to you for the rest of my life,” Duro declares, voice trembling just a little as he holds the ring up to Pietros. “I love you. Will you marry—”

Before he can get the full question out, Pietros screams incoherently and launches himself into Duro’s arms, pressing kisses all over his face as Duro drops the microphone to catch him. 

“I think it’s safe to assume that’s a yes,” Barca intones drolly, leaning into Auctus’ touch when his husband reaches out to thread his fingers through Barca’s thick, braided hair, but there’s a smile on his lips, and Nasir is once again puzzled by the relationship between the four men.

He gazes back to where Duro and Pietros are kneeling on the grass, exchanging increasingly heated kisses, and decides it doesn’t really matter if he gets it or not. Duro and Pietros look happier than they ever have, and that’s all that really matters to Nasir.

.

.

.

**Kelly’s Irish Pub, Antwerp, Belgium**

The lights in the bar are dimmed and the music is loud, thrumming through Nasir’s entire body. He has had more than a few drinks, and he’s feeling pleasantly lightheaded, leaning back against his fiancé’s chest as he talks to Mira and Naevia, fingers clutching at the arm Agron has slung around his shoulder and half across his chest.

“I’m so happy,” Mira trills with a wide, goofy grin, swaying a little where she stands, fingers clutching at Naevia’s sleeve.  “You and Agron are getting married, and now Duro and Pietros are getting married and everyone is _happy_.”

Nasir giggles and nods, because it’s _true_ , he _is_ happy, but then Mira gasps, eyes wide and enthusiastic as she sways forward, grasping at Agron’s arm where it’s slung around Nasir, drawing his attention away from whatever he’d been saying to Spartacus and Crixus. “Are you going to do a double wedding? That would be so cool!”

Nasir chuckles and Crixus bursts into laughter when Mira turns, barely audible over the loud music in the bar, and shouts for Duro.

Nasir has to look around for a bit to find him—they’d caught him and Pietros making out in dark little corners several times already tonight—but then he spots Duro by the bar, pressed up against Auctus, one hand slipped in the back pocket of Auctus’ jeans, with Auctus’ hand pressed into his cheek, their faces so close together that Nasir would _swear_ they’re about to kiss.

“Wait,” Mira frowns confusedly as both Duro and Auctus turn, eyebrows raised in question. “That’s not Pietros. “Why is Duro making time with someone who isn’t Pietros?”

Nasir can feel Agron’s chest vibrate against his back as his fiancé grumbles and shakes his head. “Don’t try to figure it out,” Agron groans. “All I know is that Duro and Auctus’ connection is very physical. They’re like magnets. They can barely keep their hands off each other. I’m pretty sure they have some kind of deal with Pietros and Barca about it all.”

Nasir hums when Naevia looks skeptical, but doesn’t say anything.

He’d had long, intense conversations with Pietros about it, with Pietros trying to explain how even when Duro and Auctus were on opposite ends of the room, they’d be hyperaware of each other, but loyalty to Pietros and Barca had meant they really weren’t doing anything about that gravitational pull.

Pietros had _hated_ that Duro was hurting himself and Auctus because he didn’t want to hurt Pietros’ feelings. Nasir hadn’t been able to relate, unable to even _imagine_ having to _share_ Agron on a near-permanent base—the once had been more than enough, and while Agron was the one that had a terrible temper and jealous streak, Nasir was more than self-aware enough to know he was a little—just a little—possessive of his fiancé too.

“I wouldn’t have pegged Duro as someone to be okay with that kind of arrangement,” Crixus frowns thoughtfully, gaze straying to where Barca is attempting to teach Pietros how to play pool—though it might just be a ploy to put his arms around Pietros too.

“It works for them,” Nasir finally weighs in. “Doesn’t matter if we get it. As long as they’re happy.”

The others fall silent at that, and Nasir leans back a little more against Agron’s chest before Spartacus nods approvingly and pats Nasir’s shoulder. “Well said,” he offers, before slinging his arm around Mira, who had chosen that particular moment to realize her boyfriend was still there too and dove into his arms with an excited squeal.

“You tired, _schatz?”_ Agron whispers against his ear, his breath warm and moist against Nasir’s skin, and he can’t suppress the shiver than runs down his spine at the feel of Agron’s lips brushing his skin.

“A little,” he admits, humming in satisfaction when Agron presses several kisses to the side of his face.

It had been a long day—he and Agron had gone cake tasting in the morning along with Duro, Pietros, Spartacus and Naevia before they’d had lunch with Naevia, Crixus’ and Naevia’s batshit crazy mother, who had yet to approve of Crixus, despite the two being soulmates and having fought tooth and nail for their love. After lunch, they’d hurried to the university to see Duro graduate, which was followed by dinner with all of their friends and barhopping until they were too drunk to stand.

Nasir was almost sure he was at that point already, even though they were only on bar number three.

“How about we go beat Barca and Pietros at pool,” Agron says softly, so only Nasir can hear him. “And then we go home, to our nice, warm bed, where no one is going to disturb us until at least noon?”

“That sounds great,” Nasir grins, turning in Agron’s arms and leaning up onto the tips of his toes to kiss him briefly. They break apart when Naevia wolf-whistles at them, and Nasir blushes a little before he tangles his fingers with Agron’s and drags him towards the pool table.

Pietros greets them with an enthusiastic shout and a sloppy grin that tells Nasir his friend has had more than his fair share of drinks already. Barca nods in greeting, and Nasir suspects he is too busy with dodging Pietros’ pool cue when the younger man waves it around haphazardly in his enthusiasm to give them a more cordial greeting. “Nasir!” Pietros shouts, roughly shoving the pool cue into Barca’s hands before stumbling around the table and into Nasir’s arms.

Nasir grunts and stumbles under Pietros’ weight, but Agron’s hand on the small of his back keeps him upright until he finds his footing again. “Nasir,” Pietros slurs, forehead pressed to Nasir’s own. “Nasir, I’m getting _married_.” Nasir feels Agron pull away from behind him and barely resists the urge to turn around to find him, but only because Pietros’ hands are warm and heavy on his cheeks as he bounces up and down in excitement.

Pietros’ happiness is infectious though, and Nasir can’t stop the chuckle that falls from his lips as he sways and bounces up and down with his best friend. “I know,” he chuckles, “You’re marrying my brother-in-law, remember?” Pietros gasps and then giggles again, nodding eagerly before pulling away and dragging Nasir to the table.

“Come play with me and Barca,” Pietros crows, abandoning Nasir at the edge of the table and stumbling back into Barca’s waiting arms. “He’s _so_ good at this, it’s really unfair.” Nasir watches, slightly bemused, as Pietros pouts up at Barca until the taller man gives in and leans down to press a quick kiss to Pietros’ lips.

Nasir blinks.

Oh.

So that’s happening.

“Right,” a young, blonde man with long, messy hair and a smile that makes Nasir feel a little lightheaded—he’s suddenly exceptionally grateful Agron has disappeared for a moment—as he leans forward on his pool cue. “Are we playing or what?”

“We are,” Barca grins at the man, arm still slung around Pietros’ shoulders. “I will kick your ass this time.” It’s the most words Nasir has ever heard Barca say in a row, and he’s a little surprised to find that the other man has a slight accent—and that he can smile that broadly and sincerely at anyone who isn’t Pietros, Duro or Auctus.

The other man snorts and shakes his head. “You may try, my friend, but you have yet to do it.”

Pietros must have noticed his quizzical look, because he jumps in with a smile and adds, “Nasir, this is Gannicus. He’s a work friend of Barca’s who likes to think he’s better at pool than Barca is.”

Gannicus protests loudly at that, though he is laughing as he shakes Nasir’s hand. “You hush, little man. You’re biased.”

“I’m not little,” Pietros exclaims as he tosses him arms up in exasperation, and Nasir gets the feeling this is not the first time they’ve had this discussion. “I’m taller than you, damn it!” Barca grins and rubs his thumb over Pietros’ cheek in a soothing gesture, and Nasir can’t help but smile.

They _are_ cute, if not a bit confusing still.

“Ah!” Gannicus points at Pietros with a smirk, “but you’re not taller than Barca, so you are a little man.”

Nasir snorts into his beer and Pietros whines, shaking his head dejectedly. “No one is taller than Barca,” Pietros sulks. “Not even Agron, and I’m pretty sure he’s the tallest out of all of us.”

Barca snorts and leans forward to glare at Gannicus playfully. “Also, my husband is not taller than me, but I assure you, there’s _nothing_ little about Auctus.” Nasir bursts into laughter at Gannicus’ disgusted expression before gaping when Pietros sips his beer and mutters, “Believe me, I remember.”

Barca just smiles down at Pietros like he hadn’t just implied he’d seen Auctus naked, and Nasir is even more confused than he’d been before. Gannicus looks between them with a furrowed brow before asking, “What kind of kinky gay shit do you and Auctus get up to, Barca? And why the hell haven’t you come to me or Melitta with such _excellent_ gossip yet?”

Pietros grins and Barca rolls his eyes as he replies snarkily, “It’s not kinky, you drunkard. Pietros is my soulmate, Duro is Auctus’. We make it work.”

Gannicus shrugs and tosses his hands up in surrender. “Hey man, no judgement. My soulmate’s been married to my best mate for ten years. God knows we have to work hard to get our shit together, too.”

Nasir is saved from commenting on the entire exchange when Agron sidles up beside him, handing him a beer with an unreadable expression on his face. “You okay, babe?” Nasir asks, nudging his fiancé when Agron doesn’t respond, turning away from the others so he’s facing Agron fully. “Agron?”

Agron wrinkles his nose and admits, “I just walked in on Duro getting a blowjob in the bathroom.”

Pietros chokes on his drink and Barca howls with laughter, clutching at the pool cue to keep himself upright as Gannicus toasts to Duro’s good fortune—apparently it is no successful night out for the blond man unless at least _someone_ gets laid—and even Nasir can’t help but laugh a little. “What’s the big deal?” he asks, rubbing his hand over Agron’s bicep. “You’ve walked in on him before.”

“With _Pietros_ ,” Agron whines, gesturing to where the younger man stands. “Not with Auctus. I already saw you stick your tongue down his throat earlier, Barca. I did _not_ need to know this kind of shit about my baby brother, for fuck’s sake.”

“What’s this about my sex life, big brother?” Duro demands playfully as he and Auctus walk up to the pool table with matching smirks. “Nasir not keeping you satisfied, so you’re prying into mine?”

“Go suck a dick, Duro,” Nasir growls without heat, tightening his grip on Agron’s bicep minutely.

Duro smirks and winks at him, slinging his arm around Pietros when he reaches him. “I just did. Isn’t that what’s got my brother looking a little green?”

Before anyone can say anything, Auctus leans around Barca and points at Duro accusingly. “Please, I did all the work. All you did was stand and look pretty.” Duro grins wickedly and shrugs.

“I did pull your hair, too.”

Barca smirks and Pietros barks a laugh as Agron cries out in dismay, shaking his head dramatically. “I am not drunk enough for this kind of conversation,” he whines, a feeling Nasir _has_ to agree with. “Can we just play pool, guys?”

“Yeah,” Gannicus cuts in, obviously also eager for a change of subject, leaning over the table to grab a pool cue. “Let’s.”  

.

.

.

**August 2014  
Outside of Nasir Labaton  & Agron’s Müller’s apartment, Antwerp, Belgium**

Nasir hums along to the music blasting from his headphones and pushes his hands deeper into his pockets. It’s still warm out, the sun just barely setting, but there’s a cold breeze, and Nasir is only in a t-shirt and jeans. He still works at a fashion store on the Meir, opting to keep the student job he’d been working for the past year and a half as he prepares to start his Master’s degree in a few weeks.

It’s a shitty job—because, well, _retail_ —but it puts money in his account and lets him save up a little.

Agron has offered him a job countless times, but Nasir knows they’d never actually get any work done if he _did_ accept a job at Agron and Spartacus’ gym. Also, he’s pretty sure that would make his fiancé his boss, and that’s a whole different can of worms he does _not_ want to open.

He shoots his aforementioned fiancé a quick text to let him know he’s almost home and to ask when Agron is going to be home—he’s had a few late sessions with clients in the past couple of weeks, so Nasir really just wants to know if he needs to cook for them or if Agron is going to pick something up on his way home after he finishes with his client.

He shoves his phone back in his pocket and rummages in his bag to find his keys, mind already on what movies might be on the television tonight, when he realizes something is different.

“Oh,” he breathes, shaking himself a little before stepping forward.

There’s someone sitting on their doorstep.

To be fair, it is the doorstep to the apartment block, so it’s likely just one of Karin’s boyfriends who got locked out again—Nasir has lost count of how often that has happened—but it’s still a startling sight.

“Hey,” he offers the man a smile as he approaches the door. “You here for Karin? I think she has a shift at the bar tonight, so you’re probably better off coming back in the morning.”

The man shifts and gets to his feet, and when he turns, Nasir’s breath catches in his throat before the man has even said anything. It’s been sixteen years since he’s last seen him, since he’d last spoken to him, but Nasir would recognize his brother anywhere.

“Adam,” he breathes, stumbling back even as the older man reaches out, his features lined with age, but still so undeniably the _same_.

“Nasir,” Adam chokes, eyes wide and surprised for a moment—and Nasir can’t help but wonder _why_ his brother would be surprised to see him when he’s the one waiting on _his_ doorstep—before he takes another step forward, arms half-raised as though he honestly thinks he’d get to _hug_ Nasir.

“What are you doing here?” Nasir demands, taking another step back when Adam looks like he’s about to reach out again, his gut churning uncomfortably as he regards his older brother.

Adam looks older, of course, and Nasir realizes with startling clarity that he must be in his thirties already. Adam’s thirteen years older than Nasir, and they’d never been close—not like Agron and Duro and the family Nasir had found for himself—but it had still hurt to realize his older brother did not want anything to do with him after Agron spoke his words.

“I…” Adam flounders, looking unsure in the face of Nasir’s refusal to come near him. “It’s good to see you, little brother. It’s been too long.” Nasir can’t help himself—he’s spent too much time with the Müllers, clearly—and snorts, crossing his arms over his chest and rolling his eyes.

“Yeah?” he replies testily. “Whose fault is that?”  

Adam flinches, and Nasir _would_ feel bad, if not for the fact that his family tossed him out like yesterday’s trash the moment they’d realized his soulmate was a boy.

“I know,” Adam replies quietly, demurely. “I know, Nasir. I’m sorry. You have to understand—”

“ _Understand_?!” Nasir exclaims, both surprised at his brother fucking audacity and at his own reaction. “ _I_ have to understand?” He stalks forward and jabs his finger against Adam’s chest, wishing desperately that he could just _shove_ all of the pain, the humiliation, and the _hurt_ he’d felt over the years because of his family’s rejection into his brother’s body and mind so _he_ would fucking _understand_.

“ _You_ understand! I was _five_! I was _five years old_ , Adam! I had _no_ idea what being someone’s soulmate meant, but it was enough to be _kicked out_!” His voice breaks on the last words and tears burn in his eyes, because even after all these years, it still _hurts_. “We could’ve been platonic soulmates—you didn’t _know_ and you _left me_ anyway!”

Adam looks stricken and Nasir is panting, a single tear rolling down his cheek as he stares at the man that he once called his brother. “You should go,” he finally says, surprised by the steadiness of his voice. “I don’t have anything to say to you anymore.”

He pushes past a dumbstruck Adam and moves to unlock the door, but his hands tremble so badly he can barely manage. He just wants Agron to come home and hold him until he doesn’t want to cry.

“Our father is dead.”

Nasir freezes and it feels like the bottom of his stomach has fallen away. He heard what Adam said, but… His father was not yet so very old. Slowly, he turns and looks at Adam, clutching at his keys desperately until the cold metal _bites_ into his palm painfully.

“How?” he whispers, _hating_ how he still cares.

Adam swallows thickly and Nasir can see tears shine in his eyes, too, and suddenly, he doesn’t feel very angry anymore. Instead, he is simply very tired, and he’s never wanted a stiff drink more than he does right at this moment. With a soft, exasperated sigh, he rubs his fingers over his forehead and gestures to the door. “Let’s just go inside. I want a drink, and you look like you could use one, too.”

Adam hesitates for a moment before he nods and follows Nasir inside. The walk up to the apartment is silent and incredibly awkward, and Nasir can’t help but wish he _hadn’t_ asked Adam up, because he’s pretty sure Agron spent the morning doing laundry and he has the nasty habit of leaving the unfolded laundry spread out across their living room.

“It’s laundry day,” he tells Adam awkwardly as he unlocks the door. “I’m sorry if Agron left a mess, I haven’t been home yet, and he got called in two hours early.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Adam replies hesitantly. “You live here with… Agron?”

Nasir stiffens a little at the hesitation in his brother’s voice before he responds. “Yeah. Yeah, while I’m still in school. We’re saving up so we can buy something bigger once I’m done.” He and Agron have dealt with plenty of backlash on their relationship already while they were growing up, and they’ve seen the kind of shit thrown on Pietros and Duro, too.

He does not have the patience to deal with it coming from his long-lost brother as well.

“Look,” he sighs, turning around to face his brother before he opens the door. “Agron and I live together. We’ve built a life, we have friends, we have a family—we’re getting married in a few weeks. If you can’t deal with that then…”

He trails off and looks up at his brother, struck for a moment by how _similar_ they look—the same nose, same eye color and shape—before he shakes himself. “If you can’t deal with that,” he continues, albeit a little more shakily than before. “Then I have nothing to say to you, and I don’t want to listen to _anything_ you have to say, either. Thank you for telling me about our father, but—”

“No,” Adam interrupts sharply, slightly startling Nasir when he steps forward. “Nasir, I don’t care. I just… it’s good to know you’re happy. I don’t care if that’s with a man or a woman. I just… I wasn’t allowed to say your name—or his—in our home. It’s… I—I’m trying to get used to it. ”

Nasir remains quiet for a bit, unsure of how to respond to that—how to deal with knowing that most of the things he’d thought about his brother don’t seem to _fit_ —before he ventures, “I wouldn’t have thought you to be okay with… I mean… that’s why you never contacted me before, right?”

Adam shuffles uncomfortably and looks down, pushing his hands in the pockets of his undoubtedly expensive coat. “A lot has changed in fifteen years for me, too.”

There is a story there, but it is not why Nasir had asked Adam inside. He’s sure he’ll find out at some point. Probably. Maybe.

In lieu of replying, he nods and turns around again, hands only trembling a little, and opens the door, kicking off his Converse in the general direction of the shoe rack, his heart pounding as he tries to envision how the conversation will go.

He tries to imagine what Adam sees as he looks around their little apartment, with their scuffed, second-hand furniture and their laundry spread out over the couch—damn it, Agron—and the dishes piling up in the sink because they’re both too lazy to actually do them before they run out of plates and cutlery, and their old, beat-up television set that Anselm had given them.

He supposes the other man must be used to much finer establishments, if their family is anything like Nasir remembers it. “Uh,” he hesitates, glancing towards the kitchen table—which looks relatively clean, at least. “Have a seat at the table, I guess.”

Adam does as Nasir suggested, and for a moment it feels so incredibly _surreal_ to see his older brother sitting at the kitchen table in the apartment he shares with his fiancé and soulmate that Nasir has to grab the kitchen counter to regain his balance. “So, uh,” he hesitates, digging his fingers into his palms. “What’s your poison? Or do you—” he chokes, because his family had been Muslim, hadn’t they?

Emma, Agron and Duro’s mother, had tried to help Nasir keep in touch with his heritage, introduced him to an _imam_ from the nearby mosque, but when he was twelve, he had decided that he did not believe in Allah the way the _imam_ spoke of, _could_ not, because no God would be cruel enough to let parents throw away their child for something they couldn’t help.

He’d drifted from his heritage after that, but he’s fairly certain that a lot of Muslims don’t drink alcohol.

He thinks so anyway.

“Do you drink?” he asks. “Or do you want like soda or tea instead?”

“Just water would be nice,” Adam replies tightly, and Nasir is just a little relieved to see that he is not the only one that is horribly uncomfortable with the situation.

“So,” Nasir exhales when he sits across from his brother, handing him a glass of water before he opens up his own beer. “I guess you should start talking.”

.

.

.

Nasir is still sitting at the kitchen table, in the dark, when Agron finally gets home, fingers clenched around his glass and silent tears running down his cheeks. Adam had left hours ago, leaving no trace of his presence but a small, crumpled business card with his address and phone number and the empty glass of water he’d carried over to the already overflowing sink himself.

He’d told Nasir everything.

He’d explained why he never contacted Nasir, explained what their family had been doing during the past decade and a half, showed Nasir pictures of his wife and daughters, and told him how their father died. It’s almost laughable, Nasir had thought when Adam explained, that the man who had been lobbying for equal rights and fair treatment to refugees would be killed by a terrorist attack.

By a fucking car bomb in Homs, Syria.

Apparently he wasn’t even supposed to be there. He’d only been there to visit an old friend, who had heard he was in Syria for a while and wanted to catch up.

He’d been missing for _months_ before they’d been able to identify the body.

His father had been dead for _months_ , and he hadn’t known, and he doesn’t know how to feel about that. He’s not even sure he feels _sad_ , and that makes him feel _worse_ , because what kind of person does not feel sad to hear that their father died in such a horrific way?

So he’d sat at the kitchen table, even as Adam left, begging Nasir to give him and their mother a chance to make up for their mistakes, staring ahead blankly as he tried to make sense of _everything_.

He hadn’t even noticed the time.

And the thing is, he _wants_ to be okay, he wants to not care, because his father had _clearly_ not given a single fuck, but he _does_ , and it _hurts_ and Nasir doesn’t know what to do with that. 

“Babe?”

He doesn’t look up when his fiancé walks in, carrying two large pizza boxes, because he _can’t_ , he’s not even sure how to explain this to Agron.

Before he can do anything, though, the pizza boxes are tossed carelessly onto the kitchen counter and Agron is on his knees before him, his fingers warm and reassuring as they press into Nasir’s cheek, lifting his chin up just a little so he has no choice but to look into his soulmate’s beautiful green eyes.

“Nasir, _Schatz_ , what happened?” Agron questions gently, a worried frown creasing his forehead.

He looks worried—frightened, even—and Nasir knows he should say something, _anything_ , but the words stick in his throat and he _can’t_ …

Instead, tears run down his cheeks and a loud, desperate sob falls from his lips as he launches himself forward into Agron’s arms, because the only thing he knows for sure right now is that Agron’s arms are safe, and he always feels better with the older man holding him tightly.

Holding him like he means something.

He knows— _he knows_ —that Agron would never leave him willingly or abandon him, but seeing Adam and thinking about his family has awoken all of those insecurities again, and he doesn’t know how to lay them to rest this time.

His father had been missing for _months_ before his family got confirmation—got _closure_ —and that makes him feel even more nauseated. It hits too close to home with what had happened when Naevia got kidnapped by Crixus’ crazy ex, and the limbo they’d all lived in for months while the police searched and questioned and arrested people.

What if it’s _him_ , next time, leaving Agron to wonder for _months_? What if Agron leaves for work one morning and never makes it home?

He is vaguely aware of Agron lifting him up and carrying him to the couch, but all he cares about is that it makes it a little easier to burrow deep into his fiancé’s embrace, easier to hide from the world as he tries desperately to come to terms with everything that happened today, everything he’d learned about himself and his family today.

“Let it out, sweetheart,” Agron whispers, rubbing his hand up and down Nasir’s back in a soothing motion that Nasir can’t help but arch into. “It’s okay. Let it all out.”

He has no concept of how long they sit there, curled up together as he sobs his heart out, but eventually the tears slow, and the sharp ache in his chest has turned into a dull roar, and he feels a little more like he can _breathe_ again.

“Adam was waiting on our doorstep today,” he finally whispers, keeping his nose pressed against the dip between Agron’s collarbones. “Told me our dad died. That he thought I should know.”

He feels Agron’s growl before he hears it, and though he would usually attempt to stifle his fiancé’s murderous tendencies, he is far too emotionally exhausted to do so now, so he just tightens his arms around him and whispers, “I don’t even know if I’m sad. I just… _They left me_. They made me feel like I was _nothing_.”

“You’re _everything_ ,” Agron grumbles in response, hugging Nasir closer before pressing his lips to the top of his head, and the words might be cheesy and overused, but it still warms Nasir’s heart to have Agron say them to him.

“He asked for forgiveness for himself and for our mother,” he admits in a small, insecure voice. “I don’t know if I can give that to him. I don’t know if I _want_ to.”

He presses closer to Agron and closes his eyes, breathing in his fiancé’s comforting, familiar scent as the other man replies, “You don’t owe them anything, Nasir. Whatever you want to do is okay. Whatever you decide, I’m on your side.”

The words are comforting, and though they do very little to actually help him decide anything, it soothes him, grounds him until he no longer feels like he’s adrift on his own in an endless ocean with no land in sight. Whatever happens, he’ll have Agron, and Duro and Pietros, and even Barca and Auctus, and Crixus, Naevia, Spartacus and all of the others.

He’s not alone anymore.

He’s not that scared five-year-old whose world changed the moment he met Agron Müller, who didn’t understand why he couldn’t go home after the playdate with his friend, who cried at night for months on end because he missed his _baba_ and _‘um_ and brother.

He’s Nasir Labaton, Agron Müller’s fiancé and soulmate, and he doesn’t _need_ his former family’s validation to feel good about himself anymore.

He already _has_ a family.

He doesn’t know if he has room in his life for more.

**Author's Note:**

> For the record, the school system described is the BELGIAN school system. I am Belgian, I have little knowledge as to how it works somewhere else, and the majority of the chapter takes place in Brussels, so Belgian schooling seems only normal to use :D 
> 
> I figured it was worth a mention, for those who got confused because it didn't match up to their own school systems. It's three years in kindergarten here, six in primary school and six in high school. After that, University or college degrees usually take about three to four years to get a bachelor's degree. A Master's adds another year or two. You're allowed to plan and stretch your studies as long as you'd like, as long as you have enough credits and you pass your finals (if not on the first try, then the second in August). 
> 
> That's all folks! Until next time :D (I will try to get part two up ASAP)


End file.
